


The God of Small Things

by seatbeltdrivein



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Community: au_bingo, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-12-11
Updated: 2011-06-25
Packaged: 2017-10-13 15:01:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/138635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seatbeltdrivein/pseuds/seatbeltdrivein
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Prompt: Fantasy & Supernatural: gods and goddesses]At the age of forty, Roy Mustang is everything he'd never hoped to be, falling into what his best friend refers to as 'old man syndrome'. After having settled comfortably into his monotonous life, Roy finds himself dragged into a struggle between beings he'd never acknowledged outside of fiction, his life suddenly resembling an ancient Xerxesian epic centering around an unconventional half-god with the fate of all humankind in his hands—not to mention a chip on his shoulder the size of Amestris.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

March rolled in with three straight days of rain, a nonstop downpour that sent Roy to the nearest department store for an umbrella, any umbrella, so long as he could walk five feet without worrying about getting so soaked that water pooled at his feet during his lecture. Listening to the students snickering at him once had been enough.

The university was three red lights from his apartment, made up of a series of intimidating, towering buildings surrounded by twenty-three parking lots of varying sizes—and he'd counted them all, too, refusing to believe the ridiculous number until he'd seen every one of them for himself. Roy sat in the parking lot, numbered eighteen, closest to the Natural Sciences building, and watched droplets spill down his windshield, colliding and mixing until it was all just one wall of water, just one more reason not to move, not to bother.

Outside, students were running for the building, books held over their heads, a few of the better-prepared individuals pulling their umbrellas against the wind and through the downpour. Roy watched them with an empty kind of amusement until a shrill beeping, accompanied by sudden vibrations against his thigh, jerked him back to awareness. His cell phone, he realized numbly. Fumbling with the buckle of the seatbelt, he managed to get a hand in his pocket and get the phone to his ear, muttering a quick _Mustang_ into the mouthpiece.

" _The hell are you still doing in your car?_ "

Roy shifted in his seat agitatedly. "Maes."

" _I've been standing in front of your building for ten minutes watching you sit there! It's kind of creepy, Roy._ "

"So you've said." Roy squinted out the window, caught sight of a rain-blurred smudge waving arms like windmill in front of the building. He rolled his eyes.

" _And yet here you are_."

"You," Roy said, pressed the heel of his palm against his eye, other hand gripping the phone tighter still, "are completely infuriating."

" _So you've said,_ " Maes quipped back, and Roy chewed the inside of his cheek to not rip his best friend a new one from thirty feet away.

"What do you want, Maes?"

" _Class starts in five. You planning on coming, Professor, or should I tell your nerds to head home for the day?_ "

Roy cradled the phone to his ear with his shoulder, shuffling to grab his briefcase and his jacket, _fucking hate the rain, why I even bother_ —"I'm on my way," he said. "Leave my students alone. They have an exam today."

" _I didn't know that was on your schedule!_ "

"Neither do they."

" _You are so wrong for that_ ," Maes laughed.

"What can I say? I just hate to break tradition."

He lost three of the five minutes until class began trying to get Maes off the phone, the man jabbering excitedly about something inane. His daughter, mostly likely, but Roy barely bothered to listen when it came to the subjects of family and photography. Slipping the thin phone in his pocket, Roy held his briefcase, jacket thrown over his shoulder and the umbrella left unattended on the backseat as he stepped into the downpour.

It was raining, and he was going to get soaked regardless. Why try to avoid the inevitable?

The halls were empty of students, classes having been in session for two minutes already. Roy took his time, listening to the squeak of rain soaked shoes on linoleum and his own irritable grumbling all the way up three flights of stairs, down the hallway, and into the second lecture hall. He walked inside with the air of a dignified man amidst the snickering of the one hundred-some students littered liberally throughout the towering rows, set his case on his desk and turned to announce, "Clear your desks. I believe you had an assigned reading due today?"

A chorus of groans sounded at the introduction of a pile of scantrons. Roy just _loved_ his introduction to biology 101 class.

*

  
"You're pretty brutal." Maes spooned another mouthful of what might have been some leftover casserole, baked with all Gracia's love and tolerance, and snorted. "When _we_ were undergrads—"

"The times were different," Roy cut in blandly. "There's nothing to compare."

"You've become a bitter old man," Maes accused. Roy just shrugged it off and continued picking at the fast food lunch he'd bought on his last break. He didn't feel a thing about any of it, about the looks on his students faces, about Maes and his eternal and youthful optimism, about the _goddamned rain_ every damn morning and waking up to water pouring down his window and choking the sun into shadows. Maes watched him, spoon still in his mouth and handle sticking straight out, parallel with the end of his nose. His eyes went crossed when he finally grabbed the thing and pulled it out, pointing the rounded end at Roy. "You know what you need? You, my good man, need a wife—"

"You can just stop right there," Roy said, tone mild and threatening all at once. "I'm not letting you set me up with Gracia's divorcée friends again."

"You used to date all the time!"

"When I was twenty five and intoxicated most of the time," Roy added. "I'm forty and I'm perfectly fine with dying alone."

"Grumpy old man."

He might be a grumpy old man, but at least he didn't have to go home to a woman he was miserable with like the majority of his coworkers, didn't have to wake up every morning to hair in his mouth and cold feet on his legs, angry as hell because his life disappeared under the weight of a gold band.

"Not everyone gets to marry the perfect woman," Roy said dryly, and Maes just sighed and cupped his chin like a swooning schoolgirl and said, "Nope, just me."

Roy couldn't even pretend to be surprised, just shook his head and graded his papers, red pen shooting across the sheets with a practiced ease, some little part of him thinking _is this all my life is?_ before he managed to squash it down.

Yes, he said to himself. This is it—not the excitement he'd imagined in his younger years, and certainly not the lucrative lifestyle he'd hoped for.

At the rate he was going, he'd probably just be better off dying early.

*

  
By the time Roy's day ended, the rain still hadn't let up. Worn out and irritated from a long day of nothing but listening to students complain, he walked out the front door of the building, somehow managing to step past where the overhanging ledge ended and the downpour began, water splashing up from the ground back onto the legs of his pants which had only managed to dry within the last hour.

Mondays, Mondays were _always_ a disaster, no matter how prepared Roy believed himself to be. He hop-skipped across the parking lot over potholes filled with muddied water to his car, mind running over the list of things he had to do before he could close his eyes on the day, _gas, food, dishes_ —

List aside, he was exhausted. Roy wanted to go home and throw himself on his bed and sleep for a week, or maybe two, and then wake up and drink a pot of coffee before sitting in his kitchen and doing _absolutely nothing_. Nice as that sounded, it didn't change the fact that he was soaking wet in the front seat of his car, sitting at another red light and counting down the seconds until he could move again. Sometimes, Roy couldn't help but think he spent half his waking time sitting in front of goddamn red lights.

It was the kind of day that begged for a change, for a break in routine, and Roy didn't even realize he was asking for it until it happened. When the light changed to green, he was alone at the intersection, the flooded streets empty of even pedestrians. He stomped on the gas and sped right through the light just in time see a flash of red blurred gold step through the curtain of rain and right in front of him. A crash, bang, and before he even knew what was happening, his foot was on the brakes and his heart was stopped dead in his chest.

Car off, keys in hand, he threw open the door and went back out into the wet, to the front of his car where the smudge of gold and red took the form of a boy laying in front of his bumper and staring up accusingly at Roy's soggy form as though to say _don't you even look where you're driving, asshole?_

Roy crouched down next to him, amazed that there wasn't a crowd gathering. He was all at once thankful for the shitty weather. "Are you all right?"

The boy sat up. "Oh, I'm fine," he hissed, and Roy's mind conjured the image of an angry, wet cat. "It's not like you hit me with your fucking car, or anything!"

Actually—actually, Roy _had_ hit the boy with his car, and yet the boy was sitting up, pushing himself to his feet and wiping the street mud from his face like it was nothing at all, as though he'd tripped off the curb and Roy had just stopped by him with a mild concern. "I—I did hit you," he said, stupefied. _How in the hell is he standing? He can't sue me if he's standing!_

"Yeah, so?" The boy was on his feet, so Roy stood as well. His head was just at Roy's shoulder, the gold crown of it lining up perfectly with the base of Roy's neck.

"How old are you?" Roy could feel a wrinkle forming on his forehead, felt his eyebrows dipping together. What was a kid doing out on his own? The boy's face darkened and Roy could practically see his temples throbbing as he spit out a quick, "I'm an adult, you shit head!"

Classy. "You're certain you're all right?" Roy asked, ignored the boy's spluttering curses and his own desire to ask where his parents were. "I hit you with my car," he said again, as though it hadn't been clear from the impact, from the moment the boy looked up at him from the soggy asphalt.

"I'm fuckin' fine." The boy was glowering at him, and Roy had the strangest abstract thought, _I've never even seen a person with gold eyes before._ Staring at the boy's eyes was like reading about someone in a myth, an ancient being come down to Earth, and the moment the thought flickered through his head, Roy slammed on the breaks, berated himself for thinking something so entirely inane.

"Let me drive you home, at least," Roy pressed on, because if the boy was going to start feeling the effects of a concussion, it wouldn't take long to set in.

"Home?" The boy looked at the ground, down to the side, anywhere but at Roy. "Don't got one," he said, "not really. I just go wherever."

So he was homeless, likely kicked out of his parents' house because he couldn't be _that_ old, eighteen, maybe. Nineteen might be pushing it. Roy dealt with young adults every day, knew their pride and their behaviors as if they were his own, and this young man, this boy, would be no different. Roy was tempted to let him go, to get back in his car and pretend he hadn't just fucked up his entire day, but instead he heard himself say, "Come with me, then. I can't let you wander around here, not after I nearly killed you. It's only right," like he was listening to a stranger speak, unable for the life of him to guess where those words had come from or why they were tripping out of his mouth so easily.

The boy looked shocked, the gold of his eyes wide around his pupils like a coin. "Uh," he said, shoulders squared to refuse the offer, but Roy cut him off, unable to let him refuse.

"If I let you wander off and you drop dead somewhere, I'd be held legally responsible. I'd prefer that not happen," he explained, and the boy scrunched his nose and squinted at Roy and finally just slumped, his whole body dropping dejectedly as he muttered, "Yeah, fine, s'too fuckin' wet out here, anyhow."

He watched the boy walk around the car, each step steady and certain, and Roy wondered whether or not he'd hit him after all. It wasn't human, that was for certain. People didn't get up and walk away after being hit by a car—they just didn't. Roy closed the door, waiting for the boy to put his seatbelt on. "I'm Roy," he said, trying not to sound awkward and suddenly feeling strange about the whole idea, inviting a stranger, a self-professed homeless young man barely on the cusp of adulthood, into his home, his life.

"Ed," the boy said back, then, "thanks," in a tone that suggested the word didn't come lightly.

"How old are you?" Roy had to ask, because if Ed really was just a boy, just a minor—

"At least eighteen," Ed said, sounding rather snide about it. "You don't have to worry," and Roy wasn't sure what he meant by that, the tense reassurance serving only to make him worry _more_.

Maes, Roy thought as he turned the key in the ignition and pulled back into the street proper, was going to have a field day with this.

Ed would only be there a night. Just long enough for Roy to be certain he really wasn't injured, perhaps enough time to point him in the direction of some place that could help him, and then Roy would be free of his obligation, could pretend the entire thing had never happened. When he got to his apartment, he was still all for his plan, would have probably succeeded at it, too, but when he stepped out of the car and into the rain for the final time that night, Ed tailing after him like an unsure puppy, he caught sight of his front bumper and noticed the heavy dent in it, like he'd run into a pole or a mailbox rather than a human being.

Something told him to pretend he hadn't noticed, to let his gaze pass over the strange dent and directly over Ed's head as if he'd just been checking whether his lights were off or not. Roy kept his steps steady and heading in one direction and didn't question who was following him, where the boy had come from, or who he actually was, not even for a second.

But the scientist in him, the small part he'd been sure had died years ago, was standing up straight and sniffing around and demanding answers, and Roy knew he'd have a hell of a time telling that particular part to lay down and play dead again.

Up the stairs and into the hall, Roy's feet went the familiar pattern. Ed stuck close to him and when Roy opened the door, Ed darted in under his outstretched arm and without even having to ask where to go, went straight for the kitchen, soggy sneakers squelching water along the wood floor. It was just hard to believe he was eighteen, that was all. Roy could have believed it from the chiseled face and the look of grave independence, but he'd never met such a tiny eighteen year old.

In the kitchen, Ed was scrabbling up at the counter, tiptoes pointed and the rest of his feet up and off the ground. Roy stepped beside him and reached up and opened the cabinet, let Ed fumble for a glass and scowl up at him, those cat-like eyes narrowed and angry. The top of his head was right at Roy's shoulder.

It didn't occur to him until they'd sat down together in the living room in front of the television sounding off the day's tragedies that Ed had put the meager meal of ramen noodles and iced tea together himself, had known exactly where everything in his kitchen was like he walked Roy's path every day of his life. Roy glanced sideways at the strange boy, tried to observe him casually, not to alarm, and Ed looked right back at him, the hard stare of a man with years of hardships behind that deceptively young face.

Roy looked away first, back to the television. _On the east-west connector out of downtown Central, a mother and two children were killed when a semi overturned...._

Same story, different day.

*

  
Tuesday mornings were unfailingly good, week after week. It was the day Roy appreciated the most because there were no morning classes, no lecture halls filled with kids barely out of their teens with their smug senses of self-entitlement and hands still clinging to their fathers' wallets while the other latched on to Roy. He wouldn't have to teach them about the evolutionary theories, wouldn't have to review the basic anatomy that biology pre-med students should already be aware of because the only class he had on Tuesday was at three o'clock with twenty-eight graduate microbiology students.

They, at least, had days between their stupid questions and blunders, and Roy readily forgave them on the principal that he only saw them once a week anyway.

It wasn't until the clock next to his bed informed him, loudly, that it was nine in the morning and shouldn't he be getting up, that Roy finally detached himself from the cocoon of comforter and sheets and warmth, and stepped back into the world of the conscious, grumbling miserably about it as he went to the kitchen. Long dragging footsteps, knowing he'd have to wait ten minutes for the coffee pot to fill—

In the kitchen, the smell of grounds churning, the sound of the percolator burping out the last bit of fresh coffee into the pot, and tiny Ed banging around with a frying pan in his hand. Roy stood in the doorway and stared and stared, trying to make sense of the who and the what and failing at it, failing miserably.

"Ed," he said finally, because the boy wasn't even looking at him. "What are you doing?"

Ed looked at him with burnt coin eyes and rolled them before answering, in a tone that suggested what he was doing should have been pretty obvious, "I'm makin' breakfast. Figured you weren't getting up for a while anyway, you lazy ass." He threw on the insult almost as an afterthought, the word vaguely fond, and Roy couldn't find the energy to feel insulted. Instead, he just grabbed a mug from the cabinet and poured a cup, found the creamer and sat at the table, the moment surreal and utterly wonderful.

He couldn't even remember the last time someone else had made him breakfast, faint stirrings of a memory of his mother he couldn't quite grasp. "How are you feeling?"

Ed dropped a plate in front of Roy, slightly charred eggs and toast, and took a seat across the table. "Fine? I still don't get what you were all worked up about, s'not like I was hurtin' yesterday, either."

"I hit you with my car," Roy said, the same words from the night before garnering the same deadpan stare.

"Weirdo," Ed said. "Look, I appreciate it, n'all, but I'm fine, right?" He shoveled a mouthful of egg, chewed noisily and scooped up another. "Stop worryin' about me when you've got your own life."

And what _that_ was supposed to mean, Roy had no idea, but he chose to ignore it, ignore his guest's loud, smacking chews, and eat the first breakfast he hadn't cooked in over ten years.

When the table was empty, the plates scraped of the last crumb, Ed put his plate in the sink, put Roy's plate on top of it, and stuck out his hand, looking up at his host. "Thanks for puttin' me up for the night. It was comfortable."

Roy didn't know what else to do, so he grabbed Ed's hand and shook, smiling down at the young man and thinking, again, on just how small he was. "Don't worry about it. It was the least I could do," _after I nearly killed you_. "Is there somewhere you need to go…?"

Ed shook his head. "I'm fine," he said again. "I got places to go, things to do," a grin, "and so do you."

"I suppose I do."

"Enjoy yourself, right?" Ed said. "You only get this one," and Roy couldn't decide what he meant. Ed didn't seem to be worried about it, though, just let go of Roy's hand and padded quietly out of the apartment, closing the door and walking out of view and leaving Roy standing in his kitchen with his hand still outstretched and holding on to empty air.

It wasn't until several hours later that Roy realized the sun was out and the rain was finally gone.

*

  
The thing about people, Ed reasoned, was that they just didn't _get_ it. They went in and out like there was nothing bigger than themselves, like there weren't millions, _billions_ , of other living, breathing creatures on the planet, all struggling and fighting and wanting for the same end. Ed got it, but then, he wasn't entirely sure that he accounted for much, as far as people were concerned.

That guy, though, Roy or whatever, he seemed okay, even though he was too preoccupied with drowning in his own apathy to see anything beyond his own shadow. Ed figured it was people like that, the ones with the potential to change, that he should try to help.

Besides, he'd been sick of the rain, anyway.

The house stood tall against the dreary backdrop of downtown Central, an old style home with two pillars holding up the porch and the fancy trimming, and a giant stained glass rendition of the nation's beginning (as the story was told) right smack in the middle of the front doors. Ed rolled his eyes at the image, just like always, and jumped up the three steps to the door and banged on it and shouted, "AL, OPEN UP, IT'S ME."

Al wrenched the door opened and frowned down at his brother. "You can just come in, you know. I gave you a key," not that Ed needed a key to anything.

"S'not my house," Ed said, "that shit's rude."

Al laughed, and not in a nice way. " _You're_ rude, Ed."

"Whatever."

Ed walked around his brother into the house, heard Mei doing something in one of the rooms beyond, pots clanging and water running, and oh fuck, he was starving. It was like he hadn't eaten anything at all those few short hours ago with Roy staring across the table at him as though he'd never seen anything quite like Ed.

"She makin' lunch?"

Al snorted. "I should've known you were here for food. Yes, she's making something. I'll go let her know you're here."

"Don't worry about it," Ed said, cupping his hands around his mouth and wailing, "MEI, MAKE ME SOME, TOO." The sound of Mei cursing in that high, girlish voice was his only response.

Al sighed. "Brother, she might've actually wanted to _see_ you—"

"We need to talk," Ed interrupted, "and I didn't want her listening." Al went quiet then, knowing exactly what his older brother was referring to.

"Let's go upstairs," he suggested. "I have a study, did you know? I have lots of books."

"If all of them are about cats and animal psychology, then I couldn't give any less of a fuck."

Al just laughed a weary, forced sound and shoved his brother up the stairs, towering over him even two steps below Ed. Ed refused to let that annoy him, didn't even acknowledge it, just jumped up the steps as fast as he could and ran down the hall to the open door of the room with walls lined with books and a warm colored desk covered in stacks of paper and pens and a calculator.

"So what's this about?" Al took the seat across from the desk, Ed having already jumped into the fine leather chair behind it. "I kind of thought you'd be at Dante's already. That was last night, right?"

"I, yeah, I got caught up," Ed said hesitantly. Al's eyes shot open, mouth dropping open.

"You have to be kidding me! Ed, you _idiot_ , how are you supposed to be named now?"

"I got caught up, all right? Shit happens," Ed said, defensive. "There was this guy—"

"Dante's not going to care," Al warned. "Dad had to really lay the pressure on her to get her to even agree to an audience in the first place, and you blew her off?"

"It wasn't like I did it on purpose," Ed muttered, sinking down in the chair, arms crossed over his chest and a petulant scowl on his face. "That guy—"

"Doesn't mean anything to Dante," Al interrupted. "You are in _so_ much trouble. Call Dad."

"Like I wanna talk to him!"

"This isn't the time to be difficult, brother," Al warned, rubbing at his eyes. "You've pissed off the wrong woman, I can tell you that."

Ed snorted. "She's just the proxy Lord of Hell. What can she do?"

Al gave him a look. "She can refuse to back you as the true Lord of Hell," he said. "You're only a Halfling, and all she sees is the half of you that came from Mom."

He didn't need to say it for Ed to realize the truth. Among all the gods, Dante was the one Ed should be sucking up to the most. "Maybe Dad can talk to her," Ed said, uneasy. "She can't be that ticked. I was working!"

Al buried his face in his hands. "Ed," he moaned, "at this rate, you'll end up a human—and not by choice. If you ever want to take the place Dad intended for you, if you _ever_ want to drop the stupid title Dante stuck you with, you have to play by the rules."

Ed's hackles rose then, at the reminder of the cosmic joke that was his life, the title that made him the laughingstock of every heavenly being in existence.

The god of small things, he thought to himself. _I **am** a joke._

*

  
Calling Hohenheim helped _not at all_. Ed called three different times, let the answering machine pick up, and then slammed the receiver down so hard it shattered. Al watched on with varying degrees of concern, the tight set of his jaw putting Ed on edge.

"I guess I should just go see Dante," he said, dejected. The old hag would probably try to set him on fire.

"Well, there's no point in hurrying, now," Al sighed. "Mei should be done cooking soon. Stay and eat, and I'll drive you to the Stairs after."

Ed could always count on Al when it really came down to it. His little brother, though not so little anymore, knew Ed better than anyone, and Ed had a hard time imagining life without him.

Mei, on the other hand, Ed could have done without.

"You should have called if you planned on coming here," Mei said, smiling, but the corners of her eyes were tense, strained, reflected in Ed's own face.

"If I'd known, I probably would have," Ed returned.

"I love it when we all get together," Al said, sighing happily. "It's like a family gathering." Al had the amazing ability to skewer Ed with guilt. Mei let out a strangled noise and looked at the floor, similarly affected.

Al, as per usual, didn't seem to notice.

"There's rice." Mei cleared her throat. "I'll get the tea."

"I'll do it," Al offered. "You cooked, you shouldn't have to do everything," and then Mei got that sappy look on her face, the strain rinsing away under eyes full of stars and moons and cats and Al holding a pot of tea with ginger fingers, trying not to let on to the fact that he'd just burned the hell out of himself.

Ed, for once, managed not to laugh.

*

  
The Stairs were, to put it plainly, terrifying. Or they were, if the traveler meant to take them heading down. Up, and they went to as nice a place as one could possibly imagine. But down…

Ed stood at the entrance to the platform, set squarely between the main bus station in downtown Central and a seedy looking club with flashing signs that alternately read _Topless babes!_ and _Happy hour 2-for-1!_ Al's car was still parked at the curb and if he turned around, Ed knew he'd see his brother staring out the front window at him with that same look, the one his mom used to get whenever she worried about something but didn't want to admit it. Al had her eyes and her gentle nature.

Ed had Hohenheim's eyes and Hohenheim's looks and Hohenheim's burdens.

The sound of a car honking spurred Ed into motion. Three short, sharp beeps and he stepped through the doorway into what looked on the outside like an abandoned shack, home for the homeless. On the inside, it was a grand staircase leading in two directions, the darker stairs taking the traveler straight into deepest Hell, and the lighter steps carrying the traveler to Paradise. With a longing upward glance, Ed took the first step leading down, his shoes still soggy enough that they squeaked against the dark wood, an irritating cacophony of short, jerky sounds, _squeak, screech_ —

Three hundred and seventy four steps later, Ed found himself in the entrance hall of the home of the Lord of Hell, dark violet eyes regarding him with what could only be referred to as loathing.

"Dante," Ed said, his mouth dry and cottony, heart fluttering nervously in his chest.

"Edward," the Lord of Hell greeted him coolly. "Welcome home."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by Ketita.

"There's no reason for you to be here," Roy said calmly. "This is the science department. You're classics. Go back where you came from."

"I'm tired of the old ladies," Maes said. "I walk in and they try to pinch my cheeks!"

Roy rolled his eyes and clutched the styrofoam cup closer, the steam from the coffee warming his face. The staff room had been empty when he'd arrived, and Roy was thrilled to have a few moments to himself. So, of course, Maes had to come and ruin it. "Go away," he said again, tried to sound imperious. Maes started laughing.

"I'll go back to the Hell from whence I came once you agree to tell me what's with that look."

"Look?"

Maes made a vague gesture at Roy's head and dropped his eyebrows and stuck out his lower lip. "You've got this duped look on your face. You walked in with it this morning and it seems to have nested."

Roy pointedly turned his chair in the opposite direction.

Maes sighed and finally just gave up and sat down at the table, scooting his chair noisily across the tile until it was pushed right up against Roy's. "Did you meet someone?"

"I ran over a child."

" _What_?"

"He said he was eighteen though, and that I shouldn't worry."

"…"

"And then he made me breakfast."

"I don't even know you anymore, Mustang."

"Now, if you don't mind, I'm extremely busy and important. Notice, if you will, the papers."

"Yeah, hard not to," Maes said, casting a longing glance at Roy's coffee. "That the unannounced exam?"

"Oh, yes."

"You're enjoying this too much."

"Every so often," Roy explained, "I have a class that I hate beyond reason. This, Maes, is that class."

"So you're just going to fail them all?"

"No, worse. I'm going to _pass_ them all with such low grades that it'll take until their graduating semester for their GPAs to recover."

"Oh, _evil_." Ah, the joys of teaching.

It was closing in on seven o'clock, and Roy and Maes could only sit around and do nothing for so long. They were both looking a little worse for wear, bags under their eyes and ties long since pulled off and shoved in their pockets. Maes looked over the clock and demanded they find some food. What was the point in being married, he asked, if he didn't eat his wife's cooking?

"I've told you already, I need to finish grading," Roy said, tugging his keys out of his pocket. The parking lot was mostly empty and would likely remain so for another hour at least. Then an influx of students and faculty would show up for the night classes, and in all honesty, Roy pitied them more than he could express in words.

"Gracia hasn't seen you in weeks," Maes said. "Come on, it's free food!"

"Which I have at home," Roy said, "where I can be alone, finally."

"Finally?" Maes asked. "What about last night?"

"I told you. There was that kid."

"I thought you were joking!" Maes stopped right in the middle of the road. Roy had to grab him and tug him out of the way when a car sped around the corner and toward the street. "You brought some kid home? After _running him over_?"

"I thought I ran him over," Roy said. "He didn't seem injured. I just wanted to be careful." He hesitated before adding, "I'm pretty sure he was homeless. He hinted at it, anyway."

Maes looked uneasy. "How about carefully taking him _to a hospital_?"

"He didn't want to go," Roy said. "He was pretty adamant about it, actually."

"He's gone now?" Maes asked. "And your credit cards are still with you?" Maes just sighed when Roy scowled at him and leaned up against the side of Roy's car with an amused, defeated look. "I guess it's better safe than sorry, but still. Be careful next time."

"I'm hoping there won't be a next time," Roy said dryly. "I'd rather not make a habit of running over homeless children."

"Children? I thought he was eighteen."

"He said he was, but—well, he was… small."

"Small?"

Roy held a hand at his shoulder. "The top of his head only came up to here. No eighteen year old I've ever met was that short."

Maes shrugged. "You never know. There are all sorts of glandular disorders—"

"I don't care," Roy said shortly. "I don't exactly plan on hunting him down and analyzing his health."

"Well, now you're just being—"

"Professor Hughes!" Roy and Maes both turned to see a short, dark-headed girl bobbing and weaving between cars toward them, hands raised over her head and papers clutched in both.

"Miss Chang," Maes said. "What can I help you with?"

The girl passed Roy an apologetic look, dipping her head low and murmuring, "I apologize for the intrusion," before rattling off about some assignment or other. All Roy caught was, "and so I was planning on writing about the establishment of the caste system in ancient Creta based on the idea of the hierarchy of the Xerxesian gods," before he checked out completely. Waving at Maes, he unlocked his car and got in, shaking his head.

Classics students, he scoffed. Maybe he was missing something, maybe there was some charm to mythology that he'd just never quite understood, but even as a child, Roy hadn't been able to accept reading about mythology, about gods and goddesses and all the frivolities left behind by the ancient Xerxesian race.

After all, what was the point in studying something so irrelevant to real life?

*

"That's the last time I go to Hell," Ed swore into the phone. On the other end of the line, Al muttered something Ed couldn't hear but knew had to be some long-suffering remark, likely directed at him. "She just bitched the whole time. And then—and _then_ the old hag set my head on fire! Just like I fuckin' thought she would! Why the fuck does she _do_ that?"

" _I don't know, Ed_ ," Al sighed. " _Maybe she just hates you_."

"Well, no shit."

" _And you can't really say you're never going again_."

"Yeah, yeah." Ed leaned against the glass wall of the phone booth, eyes passing over the scribbled graffiti painting the insides.

" _Did she say anything about the tasks?_ "

"Yeah, she said she was considering it." Ed let out a harsh, barking laugh. "Which means she's not thinking about it at _all_."

" _I don't know. I think Dad's finally getting to her._ "

"Good for him," Ed sneered. "It only took three hundred years!"

" _Go easy on him_ ," Al said. " _You know he's just_ —" Something sounded in the background, Mei's voice, and Al sighed into the phone again. " _Sorry, brother, I need to go. Mei needs a ride somewhere. Stop by tomorrow, all right?_ "

"Sure thing," Ed said, trying not to sound disappointed. "Later." He hung up the phone and it immediately rang again. Ed stared for a moment, bewildered, but then figured it could only be one person. When he picked up, he tried to sound pleasant. "This better not be who I think it is."

" _Is that any way to greet your father?_ "

Ed rolled his eyes, uncaring whether the man could see him or not. "I dunno, you tell me, old man."

Hohenheim let out a wounded sigh that Ed could barely hear over the strange sound of some sort of movement on the other end of the line, like thousands of papers being shuffled around in a constant flurry. " _Dante said you stood her up._ "

"It was an accident," Ed growled into the phone, startling a man who walked by. "I went and saw her, all right? I just left."

" _Edward… I know how you feel about her, but you need her. I can't control what she does._ "

"You can't really do much, so I'm not surprised."

Again, a sigh. " _Three days from now_ ," Hohenheim said, " _go back to her. She'll have your tasks_."

"You sure about that?" Oh fuck, did Ed ever hope he was. If the old bastard could pull that off—

" _One hundred percent sure. And this time, please don't get distracted._ "

When the line went dead, a thank you was on the tip of Ed's tongue, the two words he'd never quite said to the man. Though, he reasoned, it would make more sense to save them for when Dante had his tasks in hand.

No sense in getting ahead of himself.

*

Ed had lived more than a handful of lifetimes in the human sense of the word, but time still managed to catch him off guard, slowing and speeding in sporadic intervals, all of its own accord. The three days leading up to his audience with Dante seemed longer than the entire span of the Xerxesian empire.

Above all else, Ed hated waiting. He hated having something so close that he could feel it skim the tips of his fingers while remaining just out of reach. Dante did it on purpose, had to have. She'd waited for Ed to leave before making the call to Hohenheim, obviously intending to waste Ed's time. And now Ed was going to have to go back—again.

Control was the issue, and Ed had no other choice but to let her have it.

On the morning of the third day, Ed could hardly sit still for his nerves. "It's gonna be something awful," he predicted. "Fuck, she's probably going to ask me to kill Hohenheim."

"She'd never give you a task you'd enjoy doing," Al said. "You'll just have to wait and see."

"Awful, it'll be _awful_!"

Al pulled open the curtains, letting the soft morning light pour in and temporarily blind Ed, who'd been grumbling in his brother's direction. Hissing loudly, Ed pulled the comforter over his head and continued to mutter disparagingly. "So awful," he moaned.

"You have to get up at some point," Al reminded. "Especially if you want anything to eat before I shove you out the door. Mei left some, uh, pancake things."

Ed peeked out from under the blankets, the only part visible his slanted, suspicious eyes. "Pancake things?"

"Yeah, and they have, like…" Al paused, frowned. "Well, they're fried. I don't know. They make it where she comes from, Xing."

"Sounds weird," Ed said, but he rolled out from under the blankets anyway. "Save me some, yeah? I'm going to go shower."

Al nodded, pausing in the doorway on his way out to say, "I left some clothes out for you."

"Thanks, Al."

He managed to get through the morning and out of the house with his mental state sloping toward the positive. Ed was pretty damn impressed with himself up to the moment that he was standing in front of the Stairs, watching the dark half descend beyond his range of vision, knowing what waited at the end.

"Fucking hate that bitch," Ed said, swallowing loudly. It was pathetic. Every time he had to go to Hell, it took him ages of encouraging himself, of building himself up, before he could do it. He'd once spent six months standing at the top of the stairs trying to work up the courage to walk down them. Ed would never admit it aloud, but—

Hell, especially with Dante as its Lord, was terrifying.

At the bottom of the Stairs, instead of Dante, the Sins were waiting, all watching Ed descend with strange, unreadable expressions—except Envy. Envy watched Ed with narrowed eyes overflowing with the deepest hate, and Ed didn't even have to ask to know what Envy was thinking.

"Was Dante too busy to greet her own guest?" Ed asked, sneering down at the pathetic excuse for a welcoming committee.

"Don't presume to understand our Lord's intentions," Lust said, stepping forward and pushing Gluttony out of her way. "We've been asked to escort you to the main hall for the hearing." Her voice was like silk, caressing Ed's mind and lulling him into a sense of peace and security that he nearly missed the last few words.

"Wait," he said, snapping to attention, "hearing? What hearing?"

Lust looked vaguely disappointed. "For your Tasks, of course. Lord Dante and Lord Hohenheim," behind her, Envy hissed his displeasure, "compromised about the location."

"They compromised," Ed repeated dumbly. He sure as hell hadn't heard any of this from that shitty father when he'd had the man on the phone. Why the hell he did that, call Ed and then not tell him anything relevant, made _no_ sense. "Fuck," Ed added, because there really wasn't another way to sum up his thoughts.

Lust didn't appear disturbed by his rancor. "If you're finished whining," she said with only the barest trace of a sneer, "our Lord is expecting you."

"Waste of time," Envy grumbled, shoving by Ed and slamming into his shoulder, shooting a dark look back at him.

Ed couldn't reply, couldn't waste the effort, because Hohenheim and Dante were there, just beyond the large oak doors Lust was pushing open and gesturing him through. They were there, together—in the same room. It had to be the first time they'd seen each other face to face since Ed's birth.

True to his expectations, walking into the main hall felt like walking into a furnace, his skin prickling with a nervous heat, his mouth cottony even while his palms broke into a sweat.

Hohenheim smiled down at him from the head table, looking worse for wear, lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth that Ed didn't remember being there the last time he'd seen the man—two hundred years before. Dante didn't acknowledge Ed, keeping her focus on some unknown point on the wall beyond his shoulder.

"Good afternoon, son," Hohenheim greeted him. Ed gave a short, jerking bow, repeating it again for Dante before he took a seat in the chair set before the large table, the view even more intimidating due to the fact that Ed's feet dangled in the air when he sat, legs not quite long enough for his feet to do much more than skim the floor with the tips of his boots. "You know why you're here."

"And you realize that we won't be coddling you," Dante cut in, voice sickly sweet. She set down her glass and Pride was behind her before so much as a second had passed, refilling it with a dark red wine. "Today, I will assign you the first of three Tasks, Edward." She stared down at him, lips pursed, and Ed felt ten times smaller in that chair before his father and the woman who held his future in her hands than he ever had in his long life.

Ed, swallowing, nodded and gripped the seat of his chair, palms sliding against the wood, sweaty.

"You may, of course, refuse the Task given to you, in which case you will forfeit your right to the title of Lord of Hell." Dante looked pleased at the idea, at her own words, and Ed felt a pang of true fear at what the Task might be. All she had to do was make him refuse, and she'd be another step closer to keeping the underworld for herself.

"I'm sure he's aware of the restrictions," Hohenheim murmured, sounding patronizing enough that Pride, standing behind Dante, looked away. "Please, continue."

Dante's nostrils flared, but she managed to keep her tongue. "The first of your three Tasks is to return an escaped soul to me. What condition you return him in is of little concern to me."

"An escaped soul?" Ed blurted. "How in the fucking—"

"Edward," Hohenheim said, tone quelling. He nodded at Dante.

"As I was saying," Dante said, lowering her voice and speaking even softer, "a man escaped due to a… laxness in security." She passed a withering glance at Gluttony, who shuffled his feet and made a low, keening noise. "He is a disturbed human, one who deserves his place here," she continued. "When you return him to me, I shall assign you the second of your Tasks."

"Who is this guy?" Ed asked. How was he supposed to find an escaped soul?

The smile on Dante's face wasn't comforting in the least. "His name is Shou Tucker," she said, sounding oddly pleasant. "And that's really the only information I have on him."

"The—the only information you—" Ed looked over at Hohenheim, eyes wide and mouth open. The man, however, did nothing to help Ed, just nodded and stared at the table.

Well, Ed thought as he looked back to an altogether too pleased Dante, he was _screwed._

*

Two days later, the only thing Ed managed to accomplish was redecorating the interior of his brother's house to better suit his mood: dark and angry.

"You really can't leave the doorknobs as dragons," Al said, hands over his face. "And the gargoyles have to go, too. _Why_ you thought one would look good right next to my bed, I really don't understand, but it has _got to go._ "

Ed just huffed and nursed his third cup of coffee, hunched over like a little old man as he stared bitterly at the papers scattered in front of him. Newspapers, missing persons reports, everything he could think of, and there wasn't a single thing referencing a 'Shou Tucker'.

"She made him up," Ed growled. "I know she did!"

"Ed," Al said despairingly, "my _house_!"

"But she's not gonna pull the wool over my eyes, no sir—"

"Brother!"

"Fuck, this is ridiculous! I just wanna fuckin' know who Shou Tucker is!"

"Shou Tucker? Isn't that the name of the professor who disappeared a few years ago?" Ed's neck nearly snapped he turned his head so fast, a nonplussed Mei standing in the doorway with her arms full of books.

Ed was quick to empty her arms of her books and dump everything on the table before rounding on her again. "Where'd you hear about Shou Tucker?" he demanded, grabbing the stunned girl by her shoulders and sticking his face close to hers.

Mei scowled and shoved him away. "He was my biology lab professor during my freshman year. He was a very sad man."

"Sad, how?" Al asked, looking interested.

"I don't know," Mei murmured. "It was something you could tell just by looking at him, like everything in his life was just wrong. Some people, these things are obvious about."

"And he disappeared?" Ed asked. "You're sure about that?"

"It was very big news on campus when it happened, because it was right after he quit. The board of directors revoked his tenure, and he left. The next thing we heard, his house was broken into and he was just—gone."

Al and Ed shared a glance, and Mei stomped her foot on the ground and stuck her finger in Ed's chest. "What's this all about? No one's said anything about him in so long!"

"It's something I gotta deal with," Ed said vaguely.

Mei dropped her eyes. "It's part of your," she glanced at Al, "Tasks?"

The subject was touchy between the three of them, the tension especially obvious between Mei and Ed. Ed looked anywhere but at his brother and the girl he'd traded his life for and nodded. "Yeah, I have to find the guy. Don't go doin' anything stupid, though. You can't get involved."

"I could see if there's been any rumors," Mei offered. "He was a very nice man."

Something just didn't fit. If Tucker was such a nice guy, why was he in Hell? And what was he that he was able to escape? What the fuck was that guy up to?

Ed could at least be certain that Shou Tucker existed, despite the contradictions between Mei's accounts and Dante's own words. Something wasn't adding up, and he had no idea how to go about connecting the pieces.

"Guess I have my work cut out for me, huh?"

"Guess so," Al said. Mei had left the room shortly after, the tension rising to painful levels. "You know, Mei—"

"She's fine," Ed muttered. "I don't even get it, she just—fuck."

"Try, though," Al said, a note of pleading evident in his words, "for me?" And what could Ed do but agree?

"I have to go," Ed said, pulling his eyes from his mother's expression on his brother's face. "Stuff to do," he joked. Al followed him to the door, and Ed grabbed the doorframe as he was passing through and paused, turning to his brother to say, "I don't blame her, just so you know," before disappearing through the threshold and allowing the door to slam shut behind him.

*

Roy never wanted to have an eventful day again, not for as long as he could avoid it, but Maes Hughes was blocking his attempts at normalcy at every turn.

"I'm not going." Roy cradled his cell phone to his ear with his shoulder, shuffling frantically through the papers on his table, _I know I put those lab reports somewhere!_ Put a pile of papers down for five seconds and they all disappear.

" _You have to go!_ " Maes whined on the other line. " _It's tradition!_ "

"Last year, all thirteen of the girls in your mythology class tried to get me drunk and into your spare bedroom."

" _Twenty years ago, you'd have loved that_ ," Maes laughed. " _I saved you, though, didn't I?_ "

"Gracia saved me," Roy corrected, finally managing to unearth the missing reports. He pushed everything else off the table and onto the floor, figuring he could clean it up later. "I have a lot of work to do, anyway. I need to have these graded and submitted into the system by Monday—"

" _Which would already be done, if you didn't procrastinate._ "

"If you're going to lecture me—"

" _Come on, Roy! You have to come. It'll be fun!_ "

"It's stupid. Every part of it is stupid. I don't believe in any of that, you know."

" _Neither do I, Roy. It's technically just a class exercise, but it's gotten popular over the years._ "

The reports weren't too long. Roy could probably finish them all in a night, if he had enough coffee. And Maes' parties were always entertaining, if nothing else…

"Fine," he agreed. "But I'm not bringing any food. And if you expect me to wear one of those ridiculous flower wreaths—"

Maes broke him off with a hysterical laugh, and Roy knew he was remembering those photos from the party two years before, when the class had been entirely female and the majority of the food brought had actually just been liquor, strong fruity liquor. Roy scowled. " _Don't worry. I promise—no wreaths. Just show up, and try to enjoy yourself. You're turning into a crotchety old man before your time, Roy._ "

"I'm not," Roy denied. "I just have a lot to do."

" _I remember the days when you had a date every night, and with a different girl every time_ ," Maes said. " _I almost regret wishing you wouldn't do that._ "

"Ha, ha."

" _You know, Gracia has this really nice friend_ —"

"Not a chance, Maes."

They had the same conversation nearly every time they spoke, and Roy had only made the mistake of agreeing to a blind date with one of Gracia's friends once.

Once had been more than enough.

"I'll come, fine, but I need to get some work done tonight," Roy finally said. "So stop calling me."

" _Keep saying things like that and I might think you don't love me anymore_ ," Maes teased. Roy responded by hanging up on him.

Parties, Roy didn't have _time_ for parties, not with finals looming barely a month and a half away, grading to do, sleep to be had. Why he agreed to the party every year, Roy hadn't a clue.

Maybe, for once, it would be worth it. He _did_ need a break, after all.

*

'Sad' was a good word to describe Shou Tucker. After hearing what Mei knew about the man, Ed went straight to the library, the public records section, and dug up anything he could find, which mostly amounted to a dissolution of marriage form and a separate form, dated three weeks after the first, requesting full custody of a 'Nina Tucker' to a 'Janice Tucker née White'. The thing of it was, there was no resolution to the custody form. The paper trail ended there, without telling Ed just where Nina, who he could only assume was Shou Tucker's daughter, ended up, or whether or not the wife-character got whatever she wanted.

It was unnerving.

What was more unnerving was that he was unable to find any record of the man's employment at the university, as though he'd been completely erased. There was a single mention of him in an academic journal called _The Circle_ , one Ed had heard of over the years. It first appeared in the late 1970s and had existed with a readership interested solely in its sensationalist claims. What Tucker was doing in it, Ed hadn't a clue, but it didn't seem relevant.

Regardless, Ed decided to keep note of it—literally. Cautious of the librarians, he tore the single page article written by Tucker straight out of the journal and folded it carefully into his pocket. Leave no stone unturned, Ed figured. It was better to collect every drop of information he could squeeze out of the public access channels before deviating into the more suspect areas of intelligence.

Downtown Central wasn't an easy place to hide in. Ed knew Tucker had to be long gone, fuck knew where, and he knew the bastard wasn't likely to come out of hiding any time soon. What moron would, when the whole afterlife was on the watch for them? Not that Ed knew anyone else was looking for Tucker. In all likelihood, _no one_ was looking for him—no one but Ed, that is. There were so many things that just didn't fit together.

A soul escaping from Hell should have been a huge deal. Hohenheim should have handed Dante her ass for fucking up, but instead he was sitting down for a nice dinner and a round of 'torture Ed' with her. What the hell had _that_ been about, anyway? They don't see each other for three hundred years and suddenly they're best friends again?

Sometimes, Ed really didn't understand gods.

"The library's closing in twenty minutes, sir," one of the librarians whispered down the aisle. Ed waved half-heartedly back and stood, knees sore from so long on the floor. "Closing already?" he muttered, pulling out his watch and flicking open the cover. Somehow, he'd wasted the day away at the library—again. Five hours going through public records? Al was right. Ed needed a life.

He stepped from the library into the night-darkened streets, thankful for the rain clearing up. Dante must have been more pissed than she let on to spend a week straight pushing storm after storm on Central. The again, it was the sort of spiteful thing Ed came to expect from her.

Maybe, if Ed was lucky, the storms stranded Tucker somewhere in the city. If Tucker was still around somewhere, it would only be a matter of time before someone spotted him. Ed wouldn't mind someone doing the legwork for him. In the end, the Task would be completed, and who gave a fuck how it got done?

Not Ed, that was for sure.

"Hey, baby, how you doin'?"

"Not interested," Ed grunted, stepping around the offended-looking sex worker. Why they had to block the sidewalk, he just didn't understand. They should be lurking in bars or some shit, not bothering _him_.

But that was the way of Central, of the human race in general, and Ed didn't understand any of humanity any better. In the several hundred years since Xerxes went crashing and burning into nothing, all the changes he'd seen in the world were for the worse. Like automated check-out lines in the grocery store! Lazy, that's what it all was, lazy and convenient and the stupidest shit he'd come across.

It was a wonder mankind didn't just destroy itself, for all the good it did.

"Hey, if it isn't babyface!"

"Fuck you, Greed," Ed hissed. The bar was surprisingly empty for the time of night.

"You're such a killjoy, kid," Greed muttered. He was standing behind the counter, lining glasses up and filling them to the rims with some liquor or other. "Whaddaya want, anyway? You comin' here is always a bad sign."

"I got a Task," Ed said, unable to resist the urge to brag.

"Eh? A Task? The old hag actually gave in?" Greed looked impressed. "How'd you manage that?"

"By bothering her about it for three hundred years!" Ed scowled. "How else?"

Greed laughed, pounding his fist on the bar top. "Guess it was about time, yeah? So, what? What're you doin' here?"

"You ever heard of a Shou Tucker?" Ed held onto the counter and pulled himself up on the stool, cursing every inch of his five feet.

"Shou Tucker," Greed repeated. "I can't say I know the name off the top of my head."

"Figures. Guy's a non-entity!"

"What's he so important for?"

"My Task, that's what! She gave me the most fucking ridiculous—"

"Whoa, whoa, you know the rules!" Greed held up his hands. "I might not be in the circle no more, but I sure as hell count to disqualify you. Don't fuck up 'cause you can't shut up."

"Yeah, fine," Ed huffed, elbows on the countertop and hands cradling his chin. He watched, dejected, as Greed lit the cups on fire and just stared at the liquor as it burned. They sat in silence as a small group of men staggered into the bar, laughing uproariously. Greed waved his hand, and a woman stepped out of the back rooms.

"I'll keep an eye out," Greed muttered, "but don't hold your breath, kid. It's That Person, so there's no telling what's really goin' on."

"Thanks," Ed said, sliding off the stool.

He hadn't expected to glean any valuable information from Greed anyway, but the guy had a point. The only predictable thing about Dante was that she was unpredictable. As soon as Ed got used to her acting one way, she'd shift abruptly, catching him off guard. Which, when it came right down to it, was the issue. If Dante was so good at catching her opponents off guard and keeping them on their toes, how did that Tucker guy escape? Getting past Dante was no small feat. And the guy wasn't even alive! He was just the left over parts of a human, the soul.

A thought struck Ed. _Was_ Tucker just a soul? Or was he something tangible? He'd never heard of a soul escaping Hell before. Should he really be the only person searching for Tucker?

Ed shook his head, tried to free himself from the feeling of unease threatening to strangle his mind. It was stupid, assuming there was some conspiracy in the works. No one gave enough of a fuck about him in the Underworld to intervene with one of his Tasks. Hell, most of the gods he knew didn't believe he'd ever get a Task!

Besides, Hohenheim had been there. The old man was a shitty father, but he wouldn't let Dante ruin Ed's chances, not when he'd made it perfectly clear where he thought Ed belonged.

Even so, something wasn't adding up, some minor detail he must have missed. As much as the idea bothered him, Ed knew there was only one place he could start.

*

"You really can't make this a habit," Al said, ushering his brother inside, "showing up at midnight. Some people actually do sleep at night, you know!"

"You were awake," Ed said, looking pointedly at Al's clothes, nodding at the pen tucked behind his ear. "And anyway, I'm not here to see you."

Al started. "You're actually here to see _Mei_?"

"You got a problem with that?" Ed asked, scowling even deeper.

"No, no," Al shook his head quickly, holding his hands up in defense. "It's great! I told you that I want you two to get along. It's just…"

"Just _what_?"

"She went to sleep already," Al chuckled nervously. "She's really—ah, she can be difficult, when she's woken prematurely. Kind of like you!"

" _Who's difficult_?!"

"I can't imagine," Al sighed, rubbing a hand over his eyes. "But really, it's been a long day. You can sleep in the guest room. Talk to Mei in the morning."

Ed didn't want to wait until morning, but his brother looked so worn down that he couldn't bring himself to argue. Al had bags under his eyes and his face was bleached a pasty white that Ed had never before noticed on his brother. He shrugged and stretched his arms over his head exaggeratedly. "Yeah, I guess sleep doesn't sound too bad. You look like you could use some, too. The hell you look so dead on your feet, for?"

"Being a human," Al said, "is a lot harder than not being one. There's just—" He shrugged jerkily and ran a hand through his hair, obviously agitated. "It's weird, is all. I've never had to worry about getting sick before, or—or being too tired. It's never occurred to me, so now I have to actively remind myself that it's possible." Al smiled wearily, then caught the look on Ed's face—something between anger and despair. "No, it's not a big deal!" Al grabbed Ed's shoulder. "Really, brother. It's just different, not bad."

Ed pushed his hand off his shoulder and ripped the negativity from his expression, grinning widely in the face of his anxiety. "Yeah, different, I get it. So long as you think it was worth it, then it's worth it."

Al looked relieved. "Yeah. Well, come on, I'm heading upstairs, too."

Ed followed his brother up the stairs, his stomach burning and his eyes blurring behind a restrained wall of tears. The worst part about his brother's newfound happiness with Mei was that Ed knew, knew with absolute certainty, that it wasn't permanent. Just like their mother, Al would die, and again, Ed would be alone, given the company of nothing but quickly fading memories, the happy early years with Al as fragile as his brother's new mortality.

As he tugged the sheets of the guest bed over his head, Ed wondered what it was like to be truly alone. One day, he'd have to ask Hohenheim about it.

He was really beginning to tire of his and the old man's similarities.


	3. Chapter 3

"I can't believe you convinced me of this," Mei muttered.

"It's not that big of a deal," Ed said, shifting awkwardly in the tight bus seat. It was just crowded enough that he and Mei were pressed side to side, not a bit of space between them. Ed could smell her perfume perfectly, what she'd eaten for breakfast, the detergent she used to clean her clothes. It was unnerving. Discreetly, he tried to scoot away, but the older woman sitting on his other side shot him an indignant look and stamped on his foot.

"It won't be if you don't cause any trouble," Mei corrected. "And I should let you know now that I am not very hopeful about that."

The bus took a right sharp right, running up on a curb, and Ed's head slammed against the window. He clenched his teeth and shot Mei an irritated look. "Next time, we're not riding the bus."

"Alphonse couldn't drive me today," Mei said glumly. "He had to work. I don't like the bus either."

"I don't see why he bothers working," Ed said, sulking. "It's not like he needs the money." They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, both with their arms crossed over their chests and identical looks of misery on their faces, until they realized they were getting along. Mei quickly sat straighter, sniffing haughtily and pushing Ed.

"Well, maybe you should get your own car," she said. "Alphonse shouldn't have to cater to your every whim!"

"Oh, that's rich, coming from you!"

"Midget!"

"Bean shrew!"

They spent the remainder of the ride seething, pointedly not looking at one another. By the time the screen at the front of the bus said _STOP: CU Campus_ , Ed was grinding his teeth in irritation. Mei jumped up first, knocking him back on his ass when she started down the narrow aisle. Ed took a deep breath before standing up again and following her.

"Look," he said once they were both on the sidewalk, Central University's main campus looming impressively in front of them, "let's just stop."

"I do not know what it is you mean," Mei said, crossing her arms. " _You_ stop!"

Ed could hear Al's voice like his brother was standing beside him, pleading with him to just _be nice_. "Sorry," he said, managing to sound at least somewhat sincere. Mei didn't look entirely convinced, so he stuck out his hand. "Let's just pretend we can get along for today."

Mei hesitated, but eventually took Ed's hand, giving it a single stiff shake before taking a quick step backwards. "Yes," she agreed. "Alphonse would like that." Bringing up Al was safe, the ultimate truce and the single thing Ed figured he and Mei had in common.

Think of Al, and even they could manage to be civil for a while.

The university was at the heart of the downtown area, comprised of a number of large buildings and parking lots. It was especially crowded in the mornings, much to Ed's irritation. He kept close to Mei as they pushed their way through the crowds, and it was all he could do not to lose sight of her.

Mei walked quickly, not bothering to slow her pace for Ed. Ed finally reached out and grabbed the back of her shirt, tugging until she stopped. "The fuck are you in such a hurry for?"

"I have class!" Mei pulled free, pointing in the direction of a building to their right. "And _you_ are going there."

"There?"

"It's the library," Mei explained impatiently. "This," she pulled out a card, "is my ID. Take it and go there. Find what you need."

"What about you?" Ed asked, taking the card and eyeing it. "You gonna come find me?"

"I'll be in that building," she pointed to the left, "on the third floor. Come there when you are ready."

"I guess," Ed said dubiously. Mei left without another word, just a final look that held too much suspicion for Ed to be at ease. What did she think he was going to do, destroy the campus? Just because he'd messed up a few buildings in the old days, she assumed he was a fucking wrecking ball?

Huffing, Ed pushed his way through the people to the building Mei had directed him to, growing increasingly frustrated every time someone bumped into him or flat out rammed him because he didn't step aside quickly enough. It was all he could do not to curse and shout and cause some sort of havoc. People were—frustrating and stupid and so stuck in themselves that they couldn't tell there was something different about him. In the old days, the _better_ days, people would notice, would stop and watch him walk by simply because some vague sixth sense in them took notice. He was a god, their god, and they just didn't _get it._

By the time he made it to the sliding doors of the library, Ed conceded that maybe Mei did have a valid reason to worry about leaving him to his own devices—not that he'd ever admit it aloud.

Directly inside the sliding doors was an automated gateway. Ed stopped and stared in the doorway, the sliding doors twitching open and closed. What was he supposed to do?

"You're blocking the entrance!" A girl shoved him out of the way, shooting him a dirty look before striding up to the gateway and swiping her ID across a thin black strip on the top of it. The gate opened, and she walked through. Ed stared at the gate and felt Mei's ID card in his pocket. So, rub it on the top of the gate. He could do that.

At least the majority of the mob outside seemed to be avoiding the library, likely heading straight to classes. Ed didn't have to worry about being trampled by the slow trickle of stragglers left hovering just outside the door, standing with cigarettes lit and phones out. People, he thought with disgust, and stepped closer to the gate. He pulled out Mei's card and rubbed the side of it that didn't have her picture on the top of the gate. The gate, thankfully, opened, and Ed went cautiously through it. It was a damn good thing the public library wasn't like the university's library, because having to do that every time he walked in was way too much trouble.

Tucking the card back in his pocket, Ed stepped into the open room that made up the front of the library, study tables and reception desks spread throughout, and stopped.

"Huh," he said, looking around. What the hell was he supposed to do _now_? Central University's library looked like an alien world compared to the public library, and Ed was sorely tempted to just say fuck it and leave. But he had a reason for being there, and if he left, he'd be that much closer to handing Dante his title for good.

All he had to do was find some information on Tucker. The man had been a professor at the university only a few years prior. Surely there would be something about him. His confidence somewhat bolstered, Ed caught sight of what appeared to be a directory near the largest reception desk and made his way over.

*

"The hell," Ed muttered, staring at the call number he'd scribbled out on a random slip of paper before looking up at the rows of books—and up, and up. "The fuck sense does that make," he demanded, "putting books all the way up there? What kinda book shelf has _eleven rows_?"

Disgruntled, he stretched upward, waving his arm as high as he could reach and still not quite touching even the ninth row. There wasn't even a footstool set out. The university really didn't impress him. Ed slumped back down, coming off his toes to stand flat on his feet, and figured he'd have to get the damn book on his own.

He was on the third floor, and there didn't look to be any students nearby. Most were lingering around the study tables on the first floor, if anywhere. Peeking around the edge of the aisle, Ed decided he was secluded enough, and stooped down, pressing his hands together before placing them on the floor. The section he touched rose from the level of the rest of the ground to form a fixed platform settling about a foot and a half higher than the rest of it.

Ed hopped up on the platform and grabbed the book he needed. It was a damn good thing the library floors were cement and carpet. If there'd been wood, he might have actually had to ask someone to get the book for him, and that was just all different kinds of wrong.

The journal, _National Review of Experimental Biology_ , was an apparently long-running academic journal in good standing within Central University. Ed had spent the first hour in the library digging through the card files for anything related to Tucker, and he'd finally found a mention of him as a co-author of an article dealing with medical biology. The other author was also member of the university's faculty, a Professor R. Mustang—or had been a professor at the time the article was published.

He'd come across a ton of call numbers for journals with articles published using Tucker and Mustang's research. Ed spent an hour strolling around the library, pulling them all off shelves and skimming through them, looking for anything that might help. Nothing did, of course. The only useful information Ed found was that Tucker had once upon a time worked very closely with the Professor R. Mustang. Shutting the final journal, Ed slid it back onto the shelf and scowled, feeling irritated with the world at large.

It was time to try a different venue, Ed thought.

On the first floor of the university's massive library were a number of computers, arranged into neat rows. Most of them were occupied when he got down there, though very few of the students looked to be doing any actual work. Walking behind the first row, most of them were looking at—well, needless to say, none of what he saw was academic in nature.

He could do this. He _could_ do this. Ed sat down in the computer at the very end of the first row, staring at the screen. He typed the number from Mei's card into the box that requested the student ID, only to realize too late that he had no idea what her password was.

"Damn," he muttered, hand resting on the mouse. He couldn't just force his way onto the blasted thing with all the people around.

…or could he?

Ed stole a quick glance at the girl in the computer next to him. She had headphones on, her head bobbing in time with whatever she was listening to, her fingers tapping rapidly on the keyboard. She didn't look like she was paying him any attention.

Turning his attention back to the computer, Ed frowned thoughtfully. He didn't—well, he didn't really understand the things. They were in his realm, of course, but he'd never taken to them like Al had.

Password, password… Ed finally gave up and reached out, giving the screen a tap. The screen went blank for a second, then blue, then a bunch of random numbers and symbols scrolled across the page before it settled back into the original screen, differing only in the message: _LOGGING IN…_

Well, that hadn't been too hard.

He'd used computers before, at Al's urging. Something about _finally getting with the times_ , but Ed couldn't completely remember what to do. And he couldn't just force it, like he had the log in, because how could he force what he didn't understand? Ed stared at the umpteen icons spread across the desktop background and scowled. What the hell? Where he was supposed to look stuff up?

Having absolutely no idea what to do, Ed just started clicking the mouse angrily across the screen, managing to open seven different programs—none of which would be of any use to him. When he tried to shut them all down, the screen froze and went a weird static-y gray color before blinking and settling on a completely blue screen.

Next to him, the girl had taken out one of her earphones and made a low sympathetic noise. "You got a blue screen, huh?"

"I didn't fuckin' break it!" Ed snapped, hunching over to try to block the computer from her view. "Mind your own business!"

"Well, fuck you too," the girl snapped back as she stuffed the earphone back in place. Ed shook his head. People, he thought with disgust.

But regardless of what he thought about her, the girl appeared to be correct. No matter what he clicked or which button he pressed, Ed had _no_ clue how to get the damn thing back to normal. He couldn't even figure it out to the point that he could just force it on his own! Frustrated, he finally gave up, kicking out of the computer chair and storming from the library.

What a _waste_. The only thing he'd managed to figure out was that Tucker used to be closely aligned with that other professor, that Mustang guy—but whether Mustang was even at the university anymore was something he didn't know. Mei, hopefully, would.

The issue there was how to find Mei. Ed stood just out the front of the library's sliding doors, staring at the building where he remembered Mei telling him her class was. She said that was where she'd be, the third floor, but shouldn't there be a little more information than that? It hadn't occurred to him at the time, but Ed wondered if she hadn't left him uninformed like that on purpose. He wouldn't put it past her.

But no, they'd had an agreement. Mei might be difficult, but in the two years since he'd met her, she'd never deliberately lied to him or tricked him. She wouldn't.

Ed felt for her ID card in his pocket and, having reassured himself that it was still there, walked across the courtyard to the building opposite the library. She was somewhere on the third floor, so Ed figured his best hope for finding her would be to get up there and wait until whatever class she was in let out.

To his great dismay, the stairs were blocked off for cleaning. Ed was tempted to say fuck it and use them anyway, but he wasn't even supposed to be at the campus, let alone wandering around the buildings with a borrowed ID. He gave in and took the elevator, jamming the big number three button and leaning against the wall as the metal box jumped and jolted and sped upward.

At the sound of a loud electronic beep, the elevator shuddered to a halt and the doors opened to the third floor. It was a lounge, chairs and three or so couches spread around the large square area which fed off into four different corridors—where the classrooms must have been, Ed figured. He had to strain his ears to hear anything, managing to catch a low murmur down one of the corridors.

Not fond of sitting on his hands and waiting, Ed followed the sound.

"…during the early third century. The king of Xerxes was believed to have struck up a deal with the god of the underworld in exchange for immortality…" The voice streamed from the open door of one of the classrooms. Ed found himself drawn to the words, though he had heard them often enough that it was almost as though he'd written them himself.

Not that he needed to write anything. He'd been there, after all.

He stood at the edge of the doorway and peered around the wall. A man was lecturing to the glass so enthusiastically that his glasses kept falling down the bridge of his nose. He kept pushing them up, but they never stayed. On the front row, the third seat from the door, Ed spotted Mei, hands cupping her chin, elbows propped on the desk, and eyes wide with interest.

"I'm sure most of you've heard this by now," the professor said, and the class broke into chuckles. Ed didn't understand the joke. "Does anyone think they can explain the god of the underworld's motivation? Why did he feel the need to destroy Xerxes?"

A hand shot up in the back of the room. "He was going to use them," a girl said. "He wanted to overpower the true god."

"That could be it," the professor said, and Ed rolled his eyes. Was this what Mei did all day? Sit around and listen to people guess about what happened? If she really wanted to know, why not ask the ex-god she slept with on a regular basis? "Some experts believe there was a human involved," the professor continued. "A woman who had mothered two divine children. Has anyone heard that theory?"

Ed froze, the sneer dropping off his face. He hadn't realized… The humans were blaming his mother, now? Anger roiled in his belly, and Ed felt the old urge to bring the building down on top of these people. What did they know? Who were they to talk about what happened? His _mother_ was none of their fucking business—

One hand rose in the first row, obviously hesitant. Mei. "The, ah, underworld god," she began, "he did not approve of mixing with humans."

"And so he wanted to take control of the heavens and prevent that very thing," the professor finished. "Good, yes, that's the exact theory I was referring to." The man looked up at something in the back of the room and closed the book he'd been holding open. "And that's all the time for today, I think!" As the students began closing their books and standing, he added, "And don't forget the solstice party—that's this Friday. It's optional extra credit, but I happen to know of a few of you that need it." Again, his comment was greeted by a chorus of laughter. "Have a good one, guys."

Ed slumped against the wall outside the classroom, trying to calm his breathing and unclench his fists. It didn't matter. It was just a bunch of stupid people throwing around a bunch of stupid words. He didn't care—he _shouldn't_ care.

As students left the classroom, talking and laughing and looking like they hadn't a care in the world, Ed waited. None of them paid him any mind.

Mei was the last to file out, the professor walking alongside her. They were in deep conversation about something or other until Mei noticed him and stopped. "Edward!"

"Hi," Ed said flatly. Mei frowned.

"Ah, is this your fiancée?" The professor frowned. "Funny… I remember him being taller."

" _Who are you calling so_ —" Mei slapped a hand over Ed's mouth, silencing him with a sharp look.

"No, sir," she said. "This is my fiancée's brother."

"Ah, sorry about that!" The professor was grinning. He grabbed Ed's hand and shook it. "Maes Hughes, Professor Hughes," he introduced himself.

"Ed," was all the response the asshole was going to get. "C'mon, Mei. We're leaving."

Professor Hughes frowned, but didn't look too offended at the brush off. "Don't forget the solstice party," he reminded as Mei and Ed turned away. "You had Professor Mustang a few years back, didn't you? He's always a laugh at this."

Mei smiled. "I have heard about that tradition, though I am feeling somewhat sorry for Professor Mustang."

Every muscle in Ed's body froze, wound tight with a sudden and unexpected excitement. Mustang? Professor Mustang? The guy in all the articles? He'd be at this thing?

"Can I come?" he blurted before he could stop himself. Mei turned and looked at him like he'd grown a second head.

Professor Hughes adjusted his glasses, looking just as surprised. "You're interested in mythology?"

"Oh, yeah," Ed said, shooting Mei a look that said _HELP ME_. "Love it," he added. "Great stuff."

"Ah, Edward is the reason I became a major of mythology," Mei added, lying through her teeth. "He is very passionate, once he has relaxed to speak of it."

"Really?" The professor looked pleased. "It's always great to meet another enthusiast. My wife thinks I'm insane, actually, but my daughter's always been interested!" He stopped. "She's going to be brilliant, you know," the man continued, changing course out of nowhere. "Why, just yesterday—"

"Professor," Mei interrupted politely, "would it be acceptable for Edward to join us?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, sure," the man said distractedly, gaze unfocused. "Anyway, like I was saying, Elysia—"

"We have to be going, sir, sorry, appointment to attend to!" Mei blurted, grabbing Ed's arm and dragging him toward the elevator. "Move faster," she hissed at Ed. "He'll keep us here for hours!"

Ed didn't need to be told twice.

*

"What was that all about?" Mei asked once they were safely at the bus stop. "I did not think you would be interested in something involving—"

"I'm not," Ed interrupted, shifting closer to Mei. "I found something in the library."

Mei looked around before saying, "About Tucker, you mean? You have found something of use?"

"Mustang worked with him," Ed said. "A lot, actually. It's the same guy, isn't it? R. Mustang?"

"Oh! I did not even consider—" Mei put a hand over her mouth. "Professor Tucker was always Professor Mustang's lab instructor," she explained. "They had been working together for a long time, or so I have heard."

Ed nodded. "There's a chance Mustang might know something," he said. "Maybe he could tell me about where Tucker came from or—or how he died, or something."

"Do you think any of that will help you find him?" Mei asked. She looked skeptical.

"No idea. It might be useless, but at least it's something. Everywhere else I've checked has been a complete dead end." He was tired of being so frustrated. He had to find Tucker, no matter what, and if Mustang could help, could offer even the tiniest hint of a clue as to where Tucker may be, Ed would think speaking to him was worth it.

*

Roy couldn't get away from Maes, not for more than a few minutes. The man had the bizarre gift of always knowing where _everyone_ was. "You ready for Friday?" he asked, grinning.

"Ready would not be the word I'd use," Roy said flatly. _Go away_ , he wanted to say. _I have papers to grade!_ Maes wouldn't have listened, though, so he wasn't about to waste his breath.

"Too bad. The group this year's pretty big! I've even had a student ask about bringing an interested friend."

"Really?" Roy's eyebrows crept up to his hairline. "And you agreed?"

"Sure," Maes said, shrugging. "The guy was interested, so why not? It's just for fun."

"It's a class exercise, not a frat party."

"You'd know all about those, wouldn't you?"

Roy scowled.

Maes disappeared from Roy's office doorway for just a moment, quickly reappearing with a chair. He kicked it up close to Roy's desk, knocking a crooked-looking stack of books over in the process, and sat down. "You have a tiny office," he said gravely.

"Feel free to stay out of it," Roy snapped. "Maes, I am _working._ "

"Yeah, I can tell. How's the solitaire going, anyway?"

Roy quickly minimized the game on his computer screen. "Is there something you want?"

"To extend an invitation to dinner," Maes said. "Straight from the lips of my beautiful wife!"

"I really don't have the time," Roy said. He didn't, honestly, but he was tempted to say to hell with it and just go. He'd been eating instant noodles all week, having not had the time or energy to bother with shopping. His stomach was beginning to rebel.

"But you want to," Maes needled. "You really do."

"Yes, fine," Roy said, giving in. "Tell her I'll be there."

"Tonight," Maes prompted.

"Tonight. Now get the hell out of my office."

"Gladly!" Maes grinned, clapping a hand on Roy's shoulder. "See you at five!"

Roy watched him leave and then looked at the floor. Somehow, in the space of five minutes, Maes managed to turn Roy's office from mildly messy to a complete disaster. The chair he'd left behind had knocked over a stack of books, which had in turn knocked over a second stack, and everything was just spread across the floor—between the legs of the chairs, under his desk, and drifting toward the door.

"Wonderful," he grumbled, leaning down to grab some of the clutter. And now he had to clean his office, too, on top of needing to get about three weeks of grading taken care of. "This is not my idea of relaxing."

He grabbed one of the books, a textbook edition from over a decade before, and tried to move it aside, but instead, it slipped from his grip and went tumbling right back to the floor, pages falling open.

Roy stopped mid-grab and frowned. There was a paper sticking out of some of the back pages, a corner of it peeking out just enough for him to notice. Probably some of his old notes, he decided. He picked the text up again and pulled out the paper, eyes falling on a letter written in a hauntingly familiar scrawl.

 _Roy_ , the paper read. _I've done it. Mark this date, because all of our research_ —

Mechanically, Roy folded the letter in half and shoved it back in the textbook, all the color drained from his face. The letter was signed by a Shou Tucker and dated nearly three years before.

Though the clock read only two o'clock, Roy pulled out his keys and locked his office. He needed a drink—or three.

*

Mei didn't know much else about Mustang, having never been very close to the man, but she'd promised Ed she would introduce them at the gathering. Ed had been too excited to sit still the rest of the day, and after, in a fit of overenthusiastic power, accidentally enlarging the downstairs bathroom so much it took over half of the kitchen, Mei had demanded he fix it—then she demanded he leave until he could control himself.

Since Ed was feeling more than a bit generous that day, he left at her request, deciding to spend the day lurking around the downtown area and reading newspapers in the Devil's Nest. It wasn't productive, but he at least managed to relax his emotions enough that he wasn't on the verge of accidentally destroying anything.

By the time he returned to the house, Al had long since gotten home from work. But it was nearing midnight, so he and Mei were already asleep. A little disappointed that he couldn't speak with his brother, Ed headed upstairs.

It all came down to Mustang. Ed sprawled out across the guest bed, mind humming with excitement. He was so _close_. If anyone knew about Tucker, it had to be that Mustang guy. He couldn't have worked with him for so many years without learning _something_ useful about him. At this point, Ed would take any small tidbit of information. That his newfound relief was due mostly to Mei's help was slightly unsettling, but Ed figured—well, he figured there wasn't much point in worrying about what Mei did or didn't do, now. It wasn't like she was going to disappear anytime soon, and the deed was done. Al wasn't changing back.

Ed rolled onto his side and shut his eyes, fighting back a snarl. It still hurt to think about. He couldn't do a damn thing about it, so why bother thinking on it at all? "Fuck," he muttered into the pillow. Just think about something else—

The bedroom door swung open so hard the knob hit the wall with a loud clatter, startling Ed so bad he went tumbling off the side of the bed. By the time he'd jumped up, teeth barred and hands ready to strike, the only intruder in the room was Al, hair mussed from sleep and eyes wide open.

"Ed!" he said.

"Al," Ed replied. "What the fuck?"

"I had a dream!" Al said excitedly, and Ed cocked his head to the side, brow dipping down in confusion before he realized just what his brother was jabbering about.

"A dream, okay, that's great," Ed said. "I think."

"It's just so different!" Al sat down on the bed, obviously too excited to do anything but jiggle his legs off the side of the bed and stare at Ed with a strange and manic intensity. "I don't normally remember," the continued, "only sometimes. Which is odd! You'd think humans would remember them more, since they're always so strange, and they really are strange, it's no joke—"

"Al," Ed said, amused, "try and breathe first."

"Okay!" Al took a deep breath and immediately launched back into a rambling tale. "So I was in this garden, only it looked like the Stairs!"

"I thought you said it was a _dream_ …"

"It was! It was so weird, though! So there was the garden—"

"That looked like the Stairs, yeah, I get that part."

"Right, okay," Al took another deep breath, and Ed rolled his eyes. "So I was standing there and trying to figure out which way to go, because it was getting dark."

"…I see."

"And I had this pear!"

"Why did you have a pear?" Ed shook his head. Dreams really were bizarre!

"Oh, I don't know," Al said. "Maybe it was a symbolic pear. I have a book about dreams that talks about symbolism, but I don't really understand it. It seems very odd."

"No kidding…"

"Anyway, so I had the pear. And I had to get the pear away because it was getting dark. I… Okay, so I actually don't know why the pear couldn't be in the dark, but that's what was happening."

"…."

"And then suddenly, you were there! And you… ate my pear, actually."

"I don't like pears, Al."

"I know, I know, but this was my dream. You ate the pear."

"And then what?"

Al made a strange face. "And then I woke up. It was just really strange, like that time we smoked those herbs back in Xerxes—you know."

Ed shuddered. "Strange is an understatement. That was _terrifying._ "

"Yeah, it was," Al laughed, the humor bleeding from his smile. "I wonder why I never dreamed before I changed," he said, looking down at his lap. "It's just so different. Sometimes—it's just hard to keep up with, that's all," he finished lamely.

"Yeah," Ed said, a burn creeping into his eyes. "I bet it is."

"Well, I guess I'll go back to sleep." Al stood and scratched the back of his head, grinning sheepishly. "Sorry to scare you. I hope I didn't interrupt anything?"

"Nah," Ed said, waving off the apology. "I was just lying here, not doing shit. Same old."

"Yeah. Night, Ed."

"Night, Al," Ed said. When Al closed the door behind him, Ed laid back down, rolling onto his side and squeezing his eyes tightly shut. He couldn't imagine being human, having mortality hanging over his head, an unscheduled death sentence. Still, wouldn't it be nice to be able to sleep every day? For the body to simply demand rest and the mind to go along with it?

But no, Ed thought, opening his eyes and staring out the window. He wouldn't trade what he had, not for a thousand nights of sleep. It was just too bad Al hadn't felt the same.

*

Five o'clock came and went with a trip to the corner store and the decision to go home and stay there. At half past five, Roy turned off his cell phone and unplugged his landline just to stop the ringing. It was almost masochistic, really, Roy reflected. He needed a distraction. Instead, he was sitting in front of the television, staring at the screen like it wasn't off, and nursing his second beer.

You could call, he thought, Maes is going to show up if you don't. Chances were high that Roy's nosy friend would show up regardless. The question was whether or not Roy wanted him to.

At seven o'clock, Roy greeted the sound of his doorbell being mashed repeatedly with an inebriated snort. He stood on unsteady legs, accidentally kicking over one of the beer bottles, and answered the door.

"You never showed up." Maes' hands were in his pockets, and he was staring blank-faced at Roy.

"I wasn't feeling up to it," Roy said, and stood aside. If Maes wanted to come in, he wasn't going to stop him.

"You could have called," Maes said. "I was beginning to wonder—" He stepped across the threshold and passed by Roy and into the living room, looking askance at the bottles.

Roy shut the door. "Wonder what?"

"You're drinking," Maes said. Roy laughed.

"Are you going to scold me? I'm a grown man. I can drink if I'd like."

"How many white chips do you have now, anyway?" Maes asked.

"Not funny. I wanted a drink. That's it."

"I thought about bringing some leftovers," Maes continued as though Roy hadn't said a word. "Gracia made extra for you. But then I decided, no, he doesn't deserve them."

"I'm sure I'm missing out."

"You are!" Maes dropped on to the couch and reached down for the remaining bottle in the six-pack Roy had picked up on his way home. He twisted the top off and took a swig. "How was your day?"

"You're off the wall today, you know that?" Roy sat down next to him, letting his head fall back. "It was fine. Just a day."

"You were fine _earlier_."

"I'm still fine. I just didn't feel like bothering."

"Hm." Maes stared at him with an intensity that set Roy's teeth on edge. When he opened his mouth, Roy expected the worst. Instead, he got, "So what's on TV?" Wordlessly, Roy handed him the remote. It was, he supposed, the sign of a true friend. Maes never asked when Roy couldn't handle it.

Roy only hoped his old friend didn't stray from the familiar pattern.

*

Al barely remembered stumbling into Ed's room the night before, which Ed found hilarious. "You were muttering about a pear," Ed said gleefully. "You were terrified. Said I was going to eat your pear!"

"Ignore him, Alphonse," Mei said, pressing a kiss to his cheek as she took her seat at the table. "He is exaggerating! I heard you get up, and you did not sound the least bit frightened."

"But I did get up?" Al frowned. "You're sure?"

"You were laughing," Mei confirmed. Across the table, Ed smirked. Al rolled his eyes.

"I should know better than to believe you by now," he said ruefully, mashing his spoon around in his oatmeal. "You're terrible, brother."

"Oh! I had forgotten to ask," Mei glanced briefly at Ed. "Edward and I are going to an event tomorrow night."

"An event?" Al asked, midway to a bite of oatmeal. He put down the spoon. "Together?"

"An event," Mei confirmed. "It is of the greatest importance. It is also extra credit toward my final exam, but I do not think Edward is concerned with that."

"Task stuff," Ed said when Al looked at him. "I found something at the university yesterday. You were asleep by the time I got back."

"Yeah, I noticed that," Al muttered. "Sounds like you had a busy day yesterday. What did you find?"

"A guy who worked with Tucker real close—he still works at the university."

"He is a good friend of Professor Hughes—you remember the professor, yes?—and he will be in attendance at the gathering," Mei explained. "Professor Mustang is always there. It has become a running joke with the different classes that come through."

Al looked confused. "Why is it a joke?"

"Because Professor Mustang does not like mythology," Mei laughed. "He is very much the scientist."

"Er—sounds… hilarious," Al offered. "So you think this guy can help?"

"There's no telling." Ed shrugged. "But it's better than the nothing I've gotten everywhere else. I figured I'd give Mustang a try before I went anywhere else."

"Where are you planning on looking next?"

"Hell if I know," Ed muttered.

"Great plan." Al nodded. "Very solid."

"Oh, fuck you—"

"Edward," Mei snapped. "Not in my hearing, please!" She huffed, and turned back to Al. "As I was saying—" Ed made a face at the back of her head, and Al flicked a spoonful of oatmeal at him. "Would you like to come?"

Al froze right in the middle of aiming a second spoonful—much to Ed's relief. "Come to what?"

"The solstice party," Mei said. "Edward is coming, so I thought you might like to as well."

"Oh, ah, sure," Al said. "It might be fun."

"It'll be a sham," Ed warned. "These people have no idea what they're doing!"

"Here he goes," Al muttered. Mei have him a sympathetic look.

"They go on and on, with their—their boxed wine and holly leaf crowns, and they make me sick! It's a complete mockery of the solstice, and I'll have you know—"

"Ed, we haven't even gone to the party yet, and you're already trashing it?" Al laughed. "Not every person on the planet is a thoughtless waste of space, you know."

"Just the vast majority," Ed corrected.

"Why do I even bother?"

"Beats me," Ed said. "You've always been too optimistic."

"Optimistic, is that what you're calling it now—"

"I have to go to class now," Mei cut in. "Would you drive me, Alphonse?" Ed rolled his eyes. She asked like he didn't drive her every day he could!

"Yeah, no problem," Al said cheerily. "Later, Ed!"

"Later," Ed said, and stared down at his lukewarm bowl of oatmeal. He had a day and a half to waste before he could talk to Mustang. What the hell was he supposed to do until then?

Being old didn't change a damn thing. He wasn't any more patient now than he had been back in the days of Xerxes.

*

Maes had left Roy's place Thursday morning with the promise—Roy thought of it more as a threat—to pick him up at three on Friday.

"But the damn thing doesn't start until seven!" Roy had said.

"Someone has to set up," was all the answer Maes had given before driving off.

Roy decided he hated the solstice party almost as much as he hated traffic lights.

He didn't even have any afternoon classes on Friday. Just a lab at eight in the morning and a lecture at half past ten, then he was free for the day. Free to sit at home and think about how he absolutely did _not_ want to go to Maes' damn gathering. He never did, actually, but the man always convinced him to go. Last year, Roy hadn't even realized he'd been coming over for the party. He'd just thought it was dinner.

Hadn't _that_ been a shock.

He'd gone through Thursday feeling sluggish from the beer, thankful he hadn't gotten anything harsher. By Friday, he was wishing he had a bottle of something lying around, if only to make the night bearable.

"You look snazzy," Maes said as Roy climbed into the car.

Roy adjusted his tie irritably, not bothering to look at his friend. "If I'm to be in public, I prefer to be presentable," he drawled.

"Then it's a good thing you pull off the intoxicated look so well!"

"Just drive, Maes."

By the time they got to Maes' house, Roy was gnawing on the inside of his cheek from sheer irritation. Maes kept looking over at him like he wanted to say something and was barely restraining himself.

"I bought gin," Maes offered as they stepped carefully up the walkway, arms full of party favors and decorations—things he'd gotten before stopping off to get Roy.

"That's always nice," Roy conceded.

The front door opened before they could even get to the steps. "Hello, boys," Gracia greeted, reaching out take some of Roy's load. "Just leave everything in the kitchen. Elysia," she said with obvious excitement, "is helping with the cooking."

"My darling," Maes trilled, nearly dropping everything and knocking Roy over in the process of scampering into the house. "She's so talented!" He left Roy standing on the front step with Gracia, both of them rolling their eyes at each other and grinning.

"I wonder if he'll get over that by the time she starts dating."

"He'll probably just go buy a gun," Gracia said. "Come on, get inside! I missed you the other night."

Roy felt a sudden sting of guilt. It was easy to ignore Maes. Gracia, not so much. "Sorry about that. Something—came up."

"I'm sure it did." Gracia gave him a look that said _I am not fooled by that for even a second._

"I'll make it up to you," Roy said as she pushed him into the house.

"That would be lovely, Roy," Gracia said, smiling like an angel. "You can start by hanging the holly on the back patio."

Or maybe not so much an angel.

"I'll get right on that," Roy mumbled, taking the strings of fake leaves as she handed them to him.

He'd never actively helped set up for one of Maes' student gatherings before, despite having attended so many. By the time the house was decorated and Maes was making all the last minute preparations—wearing a toga, no less—Roy was feeling pretty certain that it wasn't an experience he never needed to repeat.

The first student to arrive was a young man wearing an oxford shirt, the buttons done all the way up to his neck. The word uptight came to mind. Elysia greet the student in the way only a five year old could. The young man stooped awkwardly to take her hand in a hesitant shake. Behind them, Maes watched on with pride, in all his barely-clothed, toga-wearing glory.

Roy decided that perhaps it was time to break into the liquor.

He started slow, wary once more students began showing. Maes hadn't been joking. The group was much larger than it had been in recent years, with nearly twenty-eight students packing into the Hughes' residence in the first half hour. Roy tried to stick close to the food table and pretend he was somewhere else.

He might have been successful, too, if it hadn't been for the sudden feeling that someone was violating his personal space. Scowling, Roy turned around, and the first thing his mind processed was a familiar gold.

Standing next to the snack table, a half-eaten kabob in hand, Roy's very own act of charity grinned up at him. "Roy," he said.

Roy scrambled for the young man's name. "Ed?" Ed, that was right, his name was Ed. But surely the young man wasn't a student of Maes'? He'd given his friend an accurate description. Maes would have recognized him.

"Roy Mustang," Ed said.

"Yes?" Roy felt himself blinking rapidly. What the hell?

" _Professor_ Roy Mustang," Ed said finally, like he'd solved some great puzzle. Roy felt the last of his patience snap.

"Yes, that would be me," Roy snapped. "I would appreciate it if you'd stop saying my name. I'm well aware of it, thank you." He was beginning to regret not having drunk more while he'd had the chance.

Ed didn't seem put off by his irritation at all. "Well, Professor," the young man said, gold eyes gleaming, "ever thought much about fate?"

Roy was definitely, _definitely_ regretting not drinking more.


	4. Chapter 4

With divinity came the understanding that very little happened in the world without reason – in fact, Ed couldn't name a single thing that didn’t hold even the smallest drop of logic. It was with that knowledge that Ed slammed the car door behind him and followed Mei, arm-in-arm with Al, up the walkway to a brightly lit house. The music was going to irritate the hell out of him, he could already tell. It was some kitschy ukulele music, which he couldn't even begin to explain.

"Ukuleles," he muttered at Al. "Where the fuck does this guy get off—"

"I like ukulele music," Al said. "Remember that fertility festival, back in Creta?"

"Third century Creta?" Ed asked. "Yeah, it was lame."

"That's not what you said at the time," Al grinned. "In fact, if I remember correctly, you were completely enamored with the shrine maidens. Said we should go to that festival _every_ year—"

"Fuck off!"

Mei pinched Al, giving him a warning look. "Do _not_ get your brother worked up," she warned. "Professor Hughes will fail me if the house is destroyed!"

"You always say that," Ed complained. "I don't just run around breaking shit, you know!"

Al snickered. Mei, heaving a long-suffering sigh, opened the front door, spitting out one last, _behave!_ at the brothers. She needn't have bothered. Ed had a goal, and so long as he had something to look to, a reason to hold onto reason, he could blend in as well as any human.

Ed leaned close to Mei, about to ask her just where this Mustang guy was, anyway, when the Professor Hughes came bounding out of the crowd in a toga, a little girl toddling excitedly behind him.

"Mei!" the professor said, grabbing her hand in an enthusiastic shake. "Good to see you, glad you could make it! And this," he turned to Al, "must be the fiancée! I knew you were tall."

"Ah, thank you," Al said, shaking the professor's hand, nonplussed. "Er, good to see you again."

But the professor had already moved on, whirlwind of energy and enthusiasm that he was, and clapped a hand down on Ed's shoulder. "Ed, right? Ed! Good to see you again, sorry about that mix up. You and your brother look quite alike!"

"I know," Ed said flatly. "We're related."

Professor Hughes laughed – loudly. "So you are!"

Ed wondered if outwardly he looked as irritated as he was inwardly. Probably, given the worried look on Mei's face. The professor was unfazed. In fact, his attention span seemed to give out after a few more seconds of that strange laugh, and he sped past them, where an unaware group of students was making their way toward the house. They caught sight of the toga-clad man and, eyes wide with alarm, began to slowly back down the walkway.

Mei sighed. "I did not expect him to be so—pleased to see you."

"Ugh," was all Ed had to say on the matter.

"The man you're looking for," Mei paused, breaking the sentence off to squint around the room, narrowing her eyes at the throng of people in the large living room. "Oh! Professor Mustang is over there, by that table." She point, and Ed's eyes followed the line of her arm to a dark haired man sulking by a table laid out with snacks and drinks.

"No way," Ed said, letting out a burst of shocked laughter.

"What?" Al asked, looking over in the professor's direction. "What is it?"

"Remember when I got distracted," Ed said.

"… I can think of a few occasions like that, yes."

Ed rolled his eyes. "With Dante— _that_ time!"

"When you stood her up?"

"It wasn't exactly like that," Ed muttered, "but yeah. That's where I was."

Al looked at the man, who had taken to mumbling into the glass clutched tight in his hands, and back to Ed. "With him?"

"He hit me with his car," Ed said excitedly.

"Well," Al said. "I see. I think I'm going to have a drink now."

Nothing, absolutely _nothing_ occurred without some purpose. Ed might not have been able to see the strings connecting him to Professor Mustang – Roy, he remembered – but they were there, had been since long before they met.

It could only mean that the man was meant to help him. Ed felt jittery with the realization, with the auspiciousness of the moment as he walked around the group of people and came up behind the professor.

"Roy," he said.

The man started, then turned around, staring blankly at him for a moment before something in his mind clicked together. "Ed?"

"Roy Mustang?"

"Yes?" The man was blinking rapidly.

"Professor Roy Mustang," Ed said, and could it have been any more perfect? When the man snapped at him, confusion giving way to anger, Ed remained steady, too thrilled, too _amused_ to bother with heated words.

"Well, Professor," he began grandly, "ever thought much about fate?"

Roy looked puzzled. "Fate?" he repeated, raising a brow. "Don't be ridiculous."

And just like that, hope shriveled up like a burning leaf. But no, there was no reason to be put off. After all, this was clearly a meeting intended by the universe, Ed reminded himself.

"Come on," he said. "What are the odds of us meeting like this? Here? I mean," Ed laughed, "it makes sense!"

Roy looked around, puzzled. "I've only just seen you, but you've obviously been here for a while."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you've clearly been drinking quite a bit."

Ed stared. "I—what—no! No, that's not right at all!"

Roy didn't look convinced. "Is there a reason you're bothering me, then?"

Apparently, fate wasn't enough for this guy. Ed snorted disgustedly. But even so, Roy looked ready to walk off. Ed couldn't lose this opportunity. So he let his eyes wander over the cluster of people jammed into the house and casually said, "I've read a lot of your research."

Roy set his drink down on the table, raising a brow. "Have you?" He actually sounded pleased about that.

"I was especially interested," Ed began, "in the work you did with Professor Tucker."

Just like that, the last vestiges of warmth and emotion disappeared from Roy's face. His posture straightened and his hands went into his pockets. "That's nothing worth reading," he said flatly. He edged away from Ed, his body turning toward the door.

"Sure it is," Ed said hurriedly, "it’s a lot of brilliant stuff. Especially the experimental stuff. You and Tucker—"

"Beyond a few articles," Roy's voice was acid, "I had nothing to do with Tucker. I suggest you take your thoughts elsewhere."

Ed didn't have the chance to try to salvage the conversation. Roy was walking off, practically out the door before Ed managed to figure out how that attempt had gone south so quickly. He saw Mei's professor break out of a group on the opposite side of the room and head after Roy, but judging by the way he stopped in the doorway, the point was moot. Roy was gone.

"What," Ed muttered, "the _fuck_?"

So much for an auspicious meeting.

*

Roy Mustang, Ed felt assured, had to know something. He'd reacted suspiciously enough, which settled the matter for him.

He had to speak to the professor again.

"You really need to be more subtle," Al pointed out the next morning over a rushed breakfast. His jacket hung over the back of his chair, and he kept glancing at the clock.

"I need to inventory," Ed insisted. "There's got to be something I can do, something I can say to get Roy to listen. Fuck, he just ran!"

"You do have that effect on people," Al muttered distractedly, already on his feet. "Don't do anything stupid." His tone suggested he believed the words to be wasted.

"Go to work," Ed returned, scowling.

Al rolled his eyes. He walked out of the kitchen, and Ed could hear Mei coming down the stairs, rushing to meet him at the door. There was a brief pause in sound, and then Ed heard them depart. He was alone in the house.

Ed dropped his head, letting his forehead rest on his folded arms. He was approaching this from the wrong angle, that was all. As suspicious as Roy's reaction had been, the man had to know something. Ed just needed to take a few steps back and regroup.

More importantly, he needed to see Roy again.

But how to convince the man to speak to him? Ed frowned at the table for a moment before a thought struck him. Both Roy and Tucker were somehow involved in some heavy science stuff, an obviously experimental field. The man _had_ to be interested in the field – so what if Ed showed interest?

It wasn't like he didn't know how to throw bullshit around to get a job done.

His hope renewed, Ed got up from the table and wandered up the stairs. He needed a shower, needed to get the hell out of last night's clothes. He had a professor to see.

*

When Ed arrived at the university, already disgruntled at the midday crowd, he kept in mind his top priority: avoid Mei at all cost. She'd been especially peeved after the party, and she hadn't needed to say so. Her sudden frigidity spoke volumes.

But as he made his way through the courtyard and past the library, Ed found himself wishing she was there. Being on campus was awkward. Hell, it was beyond that – not two hundred years ago, associating with humans had been easy. Simple.

It was amazing how quickly things could change.

Beyond the courtyard were four separate buildings. Ed went inside the one straight in front of him, and the doors slid open slowly, catching for a moment before stuttering closed again.

There was a directory on the wall. Ed scanned over the list until he saw _Office – R. Mustang NATSCI_ in bold white letters.

So the professor was in the building next door, a few floors up? No problem. Ed, hands in his pockets, walked back outside and to the right, forcing his way through a crowd standing in a fog of smoke just outside the entrance. With any luck, Roy would be there already. Ed really didn't want to wait.

There was another crowd waiting in front of the elevator, so Ed veered to the right, where a sign with the picture of a staircase was hanging over a door. Roy's office was on the third floor and the building itself was only five floors. What the hell did these people need an _elevator_ for?

"Third floor, room 304," Ed repeated, banging open the heavy door and exiting the staircase. Roy's office was immediately in view, but the door was shut. Sure enough, when Ed jiggled the handle, it was locked. "Fuck."

On the one hand, he could easily just make the door open for him and wait for the professor inside. On the other hand, that would probably not be very helpful for his cause.

Resigned to wait, Ed leaned against the wall, his hands shoved in his pockets.

"Um, excuse me?" a timid voice spoke up. "Are you here for Professor Mustang?"

"Yeah." Ed looked over. A woman was peeking out of another doorway, her large glasses sliding down her nose.

"He should be here soon," she said. "His class just let out a few minutes ago."

"Oh, hey, thanks." Ed then continued staring at his feet. The woman shuffled awkwardly in the doorway, then disappeared again into her office.

True to her word, the doorway from the stairs came banging open, and Roy walked into the office, muttering darkly about crowded elevators. When he noticed Ed, he stopped in his tracks. "You," he said.

Ed shifted his weight back and forth. "My brother's—fiancée," he supposed there really was no other word for Mei, "goes here. She told me where to find you."

"And why would you want to do that?" Roy didn't look irritated, which was probably a good thing. Mostly, he just looked bored. Tolerant.

"I wanted to apologize," Ed said, "if I was being too pushy." His mind scrambled for an appropriate excuse. Roy's comment at the party came to mind. "I might have had too much to drink."

The man laughed at that. "I thought as much." He still looked wary, though.

"I was wondering if, er, we could try that again." Ed paused. "Talking theory. I've read some of your stuff, is all, and there's no one else to, er," how to say it?

Roy studied him for a moment before suggesting, "No one to collaborate with?"

"Yes!" Ed nodded enthusiastically. "That, exactly. So, er, if you've got the time—"

There was still something cagey in Roy's eyes, so Ed was pleasantly surprised when the man said, "I was getting ready to head to lunch, if you'd like to come. The campus cafeteria isn't completely terrible."

"Works for me." Ed grinned.

It was simply a matter of keeping one thing in mind: don't push him. Roy knew something, but Ed obviously needed to ease the man into sharing it.

Walking out of the building with Roy felt a bit odd. Something about it struck a chord in Ed, bringing up memories of the old days, when gods and men weren't so separated.

If nothing else came of it, Ed decided, it would at least be interesting to see how much had truly changed with mankind.

*

"So, wait," Al interrupted. "You went out to lunch with him… and spoke about _biology_? And this helped _how_?"

"It's his connection to Tucker," Ed argued. "If I'm gonna get anything out of Roy, it'll have to be that way."

"By gaining his trust and tricking him into telling you things?" Al hazarded. "You're starting to sound a bit too much like Paninya."

"I don't cause chaos for the hell of it," Ed said. "Don't lump me in with her!"

The office was surprisingly slow that day. Ed had walked in about three o'clock and let the receptionist know he was there for Al, and his brother had walked out of one of the back offices not a moment later.

He'd obviously been bored.

"But still, this seems like the kind of thing you should be careful with. If he doesn't know _anything_ about Tucker, then you're just wasting time."

"He knows something. I told you what happened—"

"He reacted badly to the name of a man who disappeared," Al interrupted again. "That could mean anything. He might have been friends with Tucker, and you just drudged up bad memories."

"But if he was friends with him," Ed explained for what felt like the thousandth time, "then he might have some clue about how Tucker died!"

"How would he know?" Al asked. "I heard Tucker's body was never found."

Ed frowned. "Where'd you hear that?"

"One of the medical billers," Al gestured toward the front. "She used to work in Central City hospital, you know, the one downtown with—"

"No budget to speak of? Yeah, I've heard you rant."

"Well, she was working there during the time of the case. No body ever went through, and they're the only hospital in the area that handles autopsy cases. Tucker went missing, and if Dante had him, he obviously died. But no one down here knows _how_."

"And Dante's not talking." Ed sneered. "She just wants me to fuck up."

"You _know_ she does." Al sighed. "And you haven't gotten anything substantial to report in to her, have you?"

"Not really." Ed deflated, slouching in the chair. He drummed his fingers on the side of Al's desk, letting out a laugh with Al tried to smack his hand away. "I dunno when she's going to call me back in, anyway."

"I know you really don't want to," Al began, "but maybe Dad—"

"He can't do shit. No one up there can," Ed said, cutting him off. "So there's no point in thinking about it."

"And you think this professor _can_ help you?"

"I think he can at least point me in the right direction," Ed said stubbornly.

Al looked like he was going to argue more, but the phone on his desk rang, the shrill sound cutting into the conversation. Holding up a finger, Al answered it. "Hello?" Then he rolled his eyes and gave Ed an apologetic look.

 _Patient's owner_ , Al mouthed even as he nodded at whatever the person on the line was saying. _Have to take this._

Ed shrugged and stood. "I gotta go anyway," he said quietly.

 _See you at home_ , Al mouthed.

It was always jarring, seeing his brother in such a human role. Another reminder that Ed didn't want or need.

*

"He's older than I thought," was the first thing Roy said when Maes showed up at his office that evening. He waved Maes in and nodded for him to shut the door behind him.

"Who?"

"Ed. The one I ran over."

"I still think you made that up," Maes grumbled. "That was the kid, though?"

"Mei's fiancée, your little Xing girl?" Roy said. "That's his _younger_ brother."

"Oh, ouch," Maes laughed. "Talk about getting the _short_ end of the stick!"

Roy snickered. "I get the feeling he doesn't appreciate any references to his height." A pause. "He showed up at my office this afternoon."

"Your office?" Maes looked surprised. "Really. What brought that on?"

"After your fiasco of a party, he came to apologize. He's a little strange. But harmless, as far as I can tell."

"You never did explain any of that."

"He wanted to talk research."

"Yours?" Maes scoffed. "And that ticked you off how? You eat up whenever people want to stroke your ego and talk about how brilliant you are."

"My earlier joint research," Roy clarified. Maes fell silent for a beat.

"You mean—Tucker."

"Yeah." Roy fiddled with his keyboard, tapping the keys aimless and watching random letters appear on his computer screen before erasing them all in one long row. "So needless to say—"

"You got off on the wrong foot. And then he showed up?"

"And wanted to talk more theory," Roy confirmed. "He was surprisingly intelligent."

"I've only met Mei's fiancée a few times, but he's a pretty smart guy, right? A vet? It can't be that much a surprise."

"I suppose after nature sold him _short_ , Ed had to at least get the family intelligence."

Silence – and then they both broke into abrupt laughter.

*

Ed let a few days pass before deciding to contact Roy again. "Al," Ed called up the stairs. "AL!"

"WHAT?" Al's voice carried all the way down from the office.

"I NEED HELP."

"STOP YELLING AND COME UP HERE, THEN," Al shouted back, clearly exasperated.

Ed stomped up the stairs and into Al's home office. "So I need to send an email," he said. Email. Even the word tasted bad coming out of his mouth.

"You?" Al asked. "You actually want to use a computer?"

"Ha ha. Aren't you clever?"

"What for?" Al asked. "I mean, you know I'm fine with it, it's just—strange. For you, I mean."

"Roy," Ed said after a moment of fidgeting, "gave me his email. Said I could contact him again if I ever wanted to talk theory."

A strange, unreadable expression passed over Al's face before he settled on a teasing grin. "So you've trapped yourself into finally getting with the times?"

"Damnit, Al!"

"Come on, I've been on you about this for years! I think I earned a little room to gloat." Even so, Al turned his computer screen around. "Come on, sit down. What do you want your name to be?"

"Ed?"

"Your email address name," Al clarified with no small amount of mirth. "This kills me, you know, because this is _your realm._ "

"Technology is a waste of space," Ed snapped, gesturing his arms wildly to emphasize his point. "It doesn't do a damn thing but let humans be as lazy as they like—did you know they have _elevators_ in buildings with only five floors?"

"So? They also have elevators in buildings with only _two_ floors," Al said.

"See, this is why humanity is such a mess," Ed lamented. "I can’t do a damn thing for them, nowadays. Two hundred years ago, they listened. They didn't just—I mean, can you even begin to—"

"Ed," Al interrupted. "Let's stick to the purpose. What would you like your email to be?"

"The Lord of Hell," Ed said.

"I don't think that would fit," Al began, "and it's not exactly sending out a good message."

"What do you mean, _not sending out a good message_?" Ed demanded. "That's exactly the title I want!"

"Are you being difficult on purpose?" Al fixed him with a serious look. "Humans don't think the same way gods do. How about just—Oh, I don't know. E_Elric?"

"Fine," Ed huffed. "Whatever. Just stick me with a boring name. Roy'll think I'm—"

"What's his email address, Ed?"

Ed frowned and pulled the slip of paper out of his pocket. His face fell. "R dot Mustang at central dot edu."

"I rest my case," Al said. "Now, let's just start here… You have to start at the homepage, see?"

"Child missing in Central?" Ed read the headline of the first newsline to pop up. "Oh, wait, no—lose forty pounds in two weeks!"

"Fucking news reel," Al muttered. "No, you click this button. See? It says email—and then right here, it says 'register an account', which is what you need to do."

It didn't take more than a few minutes before Ed was tapping at the keyboard and squinting at the screen, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"You type like a bird pecks," Al pointed out. "You're supposed to hold a certain position, not use two fingers."

"I'll do it however I damn well like," Ed muttered. "Okay, how does this sound? Roy, I was hoping we could talk again. Ed."

"You're leaving something out, I think." Al had his face buried in his hands, his shoulder shaking with barely restrained mirth. "Try again."

"I was hoping we could talk again. About theory."

"What else would you talk about? He already knows that, Ed."

"Fuck, fine!" Ed turned back to the keyboard, pounding his fingers against it for a few more minutes. "I was hoping we could talk again. When would it be convenient for you? Ed."

"Better than nothing," Al grinned. "Go ahead and send it. It sounds good enough."

"You're so helpful," Ed said dryly.

"You're the one who wanted to be The Lord of Hell at yahoo dot com," Al snickered. "I don't want to hear anything from you!"

"Don't think this means I'm changing my mind about technology," Ed warned. "Because I'm _not_."

"Mhm."

"At _all_."

*

Roy's reply arrived within hours. Al called Ed back up to the office and pointed the screen to him again.

"Tomorrow," Ed said. "Lunch. Damn, this guy likes to eat."

"It's not hurting you to eat regularly," Al said. "It makes you fit in."

"It makes me feel sluggish," Ed said. "Whatever. Tell him yes."

"Me? Why me?"

"I have shit I'm doing! Reading through a million damn academic journals just so I know what this guy knows—"

"Well, aren’t you sneaky?" Al tapped on the keyboard a few times, then nodded. "Done. He's got your confirmation. Go back and fool with your journals."

It wasn't fooling around so much as investigating. There were key points to Roy's works that led up to his studies with Tucker. Ed would have given just about anything at that point to find some of Tucker's solo work, outside of that one article from the library, but the only remaining articles with his name attached were the joint ones with Roy. Ed had pored over them for days, pinpointing any minor connections. All he needed was the right lead in, and Roy would slip. He _had_ to.


End file.
